When the Darkness Broke In
by alfirin kirinki
Summary: When Harry returns for his fifth year at Hogwarts and Draco Malfoy suddenly wants to be friends he and the others can't help but be suspicious, but when a letter arrices with a terrible message Harry, Ron and Hermione are forced to sit up and take notice.
1. Default Chapter

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~*~Please note that there are gremlins in the works and this fic may suffer from poor formatting. This problem is being dealt with at present – please be patient or try: 

www. Schnoogle.com under 'alfirin kirinki'

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Thanks, alfirin.~*~

When the Darkness Broke In

When Emerald Earth and smoke-grey Fire

With flamed Air and Rain conspire

So then shall the Power be raised

To end the Terror of the Second Phase.

Encompass'd by the single mass

And borne unto divided class

A dozen plus their sum hence squar'd

Shall unite to destroy a blacken'd heir.

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Chapter ~ I

Is This the Start of it All?

__

"I am not naturally evil…" Morrissey

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Harry sat on his bed and looked around the dorm. It seemed so empty without the other boys there, but they wouldn't be long, he knew that. It was getting dark outside and the carriages would arrive in less than an hour. The feast would begin and along with it his fifth year at Hogwarts. Harry had just spent his first summer with Sirius and it had been easily the best summer of his life. He had been sent back to the Dursleys at the end of the previous year on Dumbledore's orders and he had gloomily settled back into the routine of avoiding them and trying to resist the urge to turn Dudley into a maggot. He had been back for three and a half weeks with no sign that anything had changed when the doorbell rang at eight o'clock one Saturday morning. "Go on boy – what are you waiting for?" Uncle Vernon snapped as Harry hesitated, about to put a turkey platter of fried breakfast onto the table in front of Dudley (his diet having long been abandoned). He had slowly made his way out into the hall, gazing uncertainly at the dark oak door ahead of him. _Surely the Dark Lord wouldn't _knock_, would he?_

The bell rang again as he reached his hand out to the latch and he jumped slightly, but took a deep breath and turned it anyway. When the door opened, in front of him stood a shortish man approaching his late thirties, with greying sandy hair and pale green-grey eyes. He had an ageless but troubled face that broke into a wide, friendly smile the moment he saw the boy at the door. 

"P-Professor _Lupin_!"

"Hello, Harry…" Lupin said warmly, brushing the untidy fair hair out of his eyes quickly.

"What are you doing here? I mean – I'm not… but – "

"Not much time to talk, now Harry, we need to get your things and get to the cottage," Lupin told him calmly, before a look of mild disquiet crossed his face and Harry heard Uncle Vernon's laboured breathing next to his right ear.

"What in God's name…?" he began furiously, clearly not at all impressed that whoever was at the door was actually there to see Harry. When he realised that the person in question not only had the audacity to want to talk to his nephew on _his_ doorstep, but that he looked as though he'd slept in his rather shabby clothes, he had almost boiled over.

"Vernon. How lovely to see you," Lupin said coolly, "I've come to get Harry."

Uncle Vernon looked at him, his jowly face turning a deep red with shock and rage. "How _dare_ you?" he hissed, "How… _dare_ you?! I have absolutely no idea who you are and you turn up on my doorstep demanding to take my nephew and…and… Who are you, you impertinent yob?"

"Remus Lupin. We met once before – many years ago; I was a close friend of your brother and sister-in-law. I've come to take Harry off your hands. _Now_." 

The look of quiet determination on Lupin's face was so intense that Uncle Vernon's moustache merely twitched nervously and he seethed "Boy – go and get your things." Harry stared between them in bewilderment but didn't need to be told twice. He bolted up the stairs and began throwing all his possessions into his school trunk. It took an incredibly short time as he had only unpacked a few bits, reluctant to accept that this – this dull detached house in Surrey, where he was treated like a slave – was what he ought to call home. Five minutes later he was dragging the dark wooden box down the stairs, his firebolt under his arm and Hedwig in her cage in one hand.

"Are you okay with that, Harry?" Lupin asked, about to step into the hallway to help, but Uncle Vernon's ample frame immediately stepped into the way to block him.

"Fine. Lets go!" Harry said eagerly, making extra effort to bang the corner of his trunk hard against the pine banisters that they had just had put in. On the doorstep Harry turned and said. "Well, see ya, then, Uncle Vernon." Uncle Vernon made a sickened growling deep in his throat and slammed the door shut, before pressing his round, fat face up against the glass panel to see what they were doing.

"Such a nice chap," Remus muttered dryly. "Alright, Harry, one hand on the trunk one hand on my wand," he instructed, staring up and down the street to check no one was watching, but very few people in Privet Drive were awake at that time on a Saturday morning. "I'll take Hedwig – here…" and with a blinding flash, Harry experienced disapparation for the first time in his life.

They had appeared with a pop outside a little white cottage with large, red and yellow roses growing up a trellis on the front. The paint was peeling slightly and the thatched roof looked slightly green in places, as though it would soon need replacing. Immediately, the front door was thrown open and Sirius leapt out and flung himself on Harry. "You got him!" he said, beaming at Lupin, who shrugged and muttered:

"Of course I did… Dursley wasn't exactly putting up much of a fight…"

"What's going on??" Harry asked, almost dizzy with deliriousness and confusion, "What's happ – Professor Dumbledore??"

A tall, white-bearded old man had emerged from Lupin's cottage and stood behind Sirius, with a serious expression on his kindly face. "Hello, Harry." Dumbledore said softly, "Come, Sirius – we must return inside." Sirius stopped hugging Harry and led him into the cottage, Lupin closing the door quietly behind them.

"What's going on?" Harry asked again, settling onto a large, floral-patterned sofa with Sirius beside him while Dumbledore stood near the window and Professor Lupin disappeared into the next room to make tea.

"I'm free!" Sirius cried, clasping Harry's wrist, "They caught Wormtail and managed to get a witnessed confession out of him before Fudge got anywhere near him! We think he's gone mad – he's locked up in St.Mungo's – says Voldemort's coming for him…"

"I would suspect," Dumbledore cut in, "that he is not far from the truth. Voldemort will not give up easily. There is no question that he has returned – he is not at full power yet, but he is certainly working towards it. The Dursleys' was no longer safe for you Harry. You will stay here for the remainder of the summer where the wards are more powerful and you have many watchful eyes about you."

"Where is 'here', anyway?" Harry asked, staring around the cosy sitting room, and straining to see out of the windows to see if he recognised any landmarks, completely bewildered by what he as hearing.

"This is my cottage, Harry," Lupin said, returning to the room with a tray of tea and a plate of bread. He placed it on a small wooden table in front of the sofa and with a little flick of his wand the bread turned into a pile of buttered toast. "It's not much, admittedly, but it's the safest place for you outside Hogwarts. For the moment at least."

"It's great, Professor!" Harry told him, already in love with the low wooden beams and redbrick fireplace, currently holding an artfully positioned pile of unlit logs.

"I'm not your professor anymore, Harry. And as you're going to be living here you should definitely be calling me Remus…"

"Call him Moony!" Sirius laughed. Remus shot him an unamused look. "Don't complain, Moo – I can think of things much worse that I could suggest he calls you!" 

Remus rolled his eyes and turned to his new guest, "Ignore him, Harry – he's just being a pain in the neck. He's been a nightmare since he heard he was free. Like a hyperactive puppy." He turned back to Sirius and pointed his wand at him warningly, although he was smiling fondly. "Behave, or I won't throw you a single stick for the rest of the month." Sirius gave a small mock whine and hung his head.

"Alright," Harry laughed, enjoying the playful exchange. He looked around the room again. "But… I don't understand – I mean what's been happening in the past three weeks for everything to have changed?"

"It's a long and complicated story, and it has taken more than three weeks for the events to unfold, but I am sure Remus and your godfather will tell you all about it as best they can. In the meantime we need to be sure that you will follow our wishes with utmost respect, Harry. We have had word that Voldemort is planning on consuming yet more power. We do not know, yet, what this may mean, but we are all firm in the belief that this will involve you."

"What's new?" Harry muttered, rolling his eyes.

"Complacency will do you no good, Harry, you must appreciate the danger you are in," Dumbledore told him gravely, "You must not go anywhere without either Sirius or Remus or the Weasleys – you may trust no one else, for, as we have already learned, we cannot trust even those we think we know well. The cottage is to be moved soon, to the periphery of the school grounds. You will have every ward possible there to protect you, but you must still exercise caution – he has reached you before and, if this is indeed his intention, he will do again."

It had been the second week in August that Harry had taken a trip to Diagon Alley with both Sirius and Remus. He had gone to pick up a book he'd ordered (_Life Without the Wand_ – an essay on the art of wandless-magic), and a few other things that he had missed out on when he and Remus had met the Weasleys and Hermione there at the beginning of July, while they popped into the shop next door. They had felt that little harm could come to him if they were so close by, and had taken a rare risk with his safety. He had been standing at the window of Quality Quidditch Supplies, waiting for them, admiring the new Light-Year2020 and wondering if maybe it was worthwhile going to buy some more wax for his maintenance kit, when something reflecting in the window caught his eye. A figure dressed in black jeans and a thin, black, long-sleeve top was standing watching him from beside the window of Flourish and Blotts.****Oh great. What a way to ruin a perfectly good mood. He turned, slowly, preparing a list of defensive put-downs in his head, knowing he'd have forgotten them all by the time he opened his mouth. 

About eight feet away, on the other side of the narrow cobbled street, Draco Malfoy stood, a cigarette in one hand and a vaguely appraising look on his face._ I didn't know he smokes…_ They stared at each other guardedly for a moment before Malfoy leant away from the window, revealing a display of Wendolina Woolfe's latest novel. He stepped through the stream of passers by and moved to stand looking in to the window of Q.Q.S. boredly. "Personally, I preferred the 1900 series…" he drawled, taking a drag on the cigarette. Harry winced inwardly, Malfoy smoking Muggle (_Muggle_!) cigarettes was really odd to observe. The blonde boy turned to him with a half-smirk on his face. "I see your godfather's finally free… took them long enough, didn't it?"

Harry couldn't really tell how Malfoy meant that to sound, but judging from his previous experience it was the beginning of an attempt to piss him off and Harry really wasn't it the mood. "Oh get stuffed, Malfoy, you prat…" he muttered, and turned to walk away – the broom wax could wait. But as he turned a thin but strong set of fingers clasped his arm. "Don't walk away when I'm talking to you." 

Surprised, Harry turned back to look at him. "Why the hell not? Whenever you talk to me it's to upset me – why should I stand around and listen when I don't have to? You've already started on Sirius and I'm just not in the mood. Go and find someone else to annoy…" he tried to yank his hand away but failed. Clearly Malfoy was stronger than his slight frame suggested.

"I was making an observation, Potter, not attempting to piss you off – if I wanted to do that I would have pointed out that you've put on weight. And waited until someone was _listening_ to do so." He gave a smug little grin and took another drag on his cigarette. Harry waited to have a cloud of smoke blown in his face, but to his surprise Malfoy actually made the effort to turn away as he exhaled. "Had a good summer, have you?"

Harry nearly laughed. Malfoy? Small talk? _No_. "Alright, what's the joke? Crabbe lurking in the shadows ready to lamp me with a plank of wood so you can drag me off to your father, is he? You do _know_ Sirius and Remus are only in Wilbur Jones's, don't you?"

Malfoy's features twitched slightly. "You don't _seriously_ believe I spend my summers with that pair of goons, do you, _Potter_? I get away from the imbecilic pair of apes at the first opportunity!" he told him indignantly, adding, "I'd rather have _no_ company than _bad_ company."

"Well in that case you won't mind getting off my arm and letting me get on with it, will you, Malfoy?" Harry snapped, starting to get a little annoyed and exceptionally bemused by Malfoy's behaviour. Either B&H weren't the only thing he'd been smoking, or he was up to something and thought he was being subtle.

The blonde boy's features flickered again and he dropped his grip on Harry's arm. Harry began to turn away again as Malfoy took a last drag of the cigarette and tossed the butt onto the cobbled path. "Potter, can I come with you?" That was just too much for Harry and he burst out laughing.

"Um, _Malfoy_ - it seems to have slipped your mind that we_ hate _each other!" This time there was no mistaking the flinch his words brought about in Malfoy. He turned his steely grey eyes back to the Light-Year2020 in the window and murmured what sounded like "Life's too short…"

"Well, you've learnt that a bit late, haven't you?" Harry muttered back.

"I didn't have a choice…" Malfoy told him bitterly. The tone of his voice was not one Harry had heard from him before, and he stood and gazed at him apprehensively.

"Malfoy, I don't know what you're doing but keep me out of it," he told him, half confused, half irritated. Here they were in the middle of Diagon Alley on a Saturday afternoon and Malfoy had suddenly decided to make friends and become bitter and angst ridden on him! Frankly, at that moment in time he wanted the old, hateful Malfoy back. At least he could just throw a couple of nasty retorts at him and walk off without feeling guilty when he was like that, but Harry's abruptness was disguising a growing (and somewhat disturbing) sense of pity. "If you want some friends maybe you should try finding a Hufflepuff or something…" 

Malfoy looked at him as if he'd just suggested he should go and rent someone. "Fine. I tried. It seems that I forgot The Boy Who Lived is above basic conversation. Well it's _your_ loss. See you at school," he said eventually, sounding very slightly like Harry wasn't the one he was trying to convince. He turned to walk away and Harry just gazed after him completely unsettled by the whole episode. He went straight into W. Jones's to find his guardians and forgot about the broom wax altogether. Later, he had tried to decide whether it was worth telling Ron and Hermione. He'd decided not to for now, and to at least wait until they got back to school, because at the moment he had bigger fish to fry where they were concerned.

By the time he heard the carriages pulling up on a distant side of the castle Harry had fully unpacked and he eagerly bounded down the stairs to meet the other Gryffindors in the main hall. Hermione ran up to him and flung her arms around his neck, beaming broadly. "Oh Harry it's so good to see you!" she cried as if she hadn't seen him for months, when really it had only been a few weeks. Harry looked at Ron questioningly and hugged her back. "Er… yeah, I missed you too, Herm…" he told her as Ron shrugged at him, "Shall we go in and sit down, then?"

"She was even worse when _I _met her at King's Cross…" Ron murmured as Hermione turned to say something to Ginny. "She kissed _me_ on the cheek!"

They joined everyone in the Great Hall and took places at the Gryffindor table. As soon as she had sat opposite him Hermione gasped and pointed at his robes in horror "Harry! Where is it?" she demanded aghast.

"Where's what?"

"Your Junior Prefect badge!"

"Oh. That." Harry muttered grimacing. That _damn_ Prefect Thing. He hadn't wanted to be a prefect at all – all the extra attention and responsibility would be less than pleasant and he had just been made captain of the Quidditch team and the last thing he needed in his O.W.Ls year was even _more_ responsibility. Let alone the fact that he knew Ron would have killed for the job… His Quidditch skills had improved considerably with the years of practise and Harry had decided over the summer that he would be fully justified in giving him a position on the team this year, but he wasn't captain or Junior Prefect – both of which he had desperately wanted to be. Not that you'd get him to admit it, of course…

"Yes, Harry, _that_," Hermione said, clearly not at all impressed that he wasn't displaying his new role with pride. She, of course, was the other Junior Prefect (each house's first choice for Head Boy or Girl in their final year), and Harry had endured an entire summer of being teased that he should marry her and it would be an almost perfect re-creation of his parents' history. In the end he had got so annoyed that he had shouted at Remus and upset him a bit, which had led to a reluctant confession and a major heart-to-heart. Remus had more or less become Harry's substitute mum by that time. He had hardly seen the Weasleys that summer, and dear old Molly had had to pass the baton on to the former professor. Sirius was great, he did the parental thing quite well, but he wasn't quite as organised as Remus and his vaguely more homely character had a reassuringly calming effect on everything that happened at the cottage. And he was a better cook, too…

"Hermione, it's probably upstairs or something, but… well… you know I'm not very happy about this anyway…" he glanced at Ron for support. "I don't even know how they justified making us prefects anyway – we've broken almost as many rules as Fred and George have between them – _each_!"

"They made Ferret Boy a Prefect. I think that says it all, really…" Ron said as he watched Malfoy sit down at the Slytherin table over Harry's shoulder. Harry tried not to wince. Yes, Malfoy was a prefect, too. That meant they'd be in stupid school meetings together for the next year and have to share all of the Prefects' privilege facilities. If there was anything good about that Harry couldn't see it. _Unless _that_ was his reason for trying to call a truce…_

Before any one could say anything further, Dumbledore had stood up at the teachers' table and the room had fallen silent. The first years were being led in and the Sorting was about to commence when Harry suddenly realised for the first time that there was an empty seat at the top table. He knew immediately that it must have been the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher's seat, and he wondered who they may have fooled into taking it this time.****Or maybe they haven't got anyone, and we'll have Snape! He thought in horror. But Dumbledore surely wouldn't let that happen… would he? There was little explanation later when Dumbledore addressed the assembled pupils. He simply told them that the new DADA professor would arrive the next morning and that he hoped that whatever they heard about him they would trust his judgement as their Headmaster and respect his authority as well as the new teacher's feelings.

"It's not Lupin, is it, Harry?" Ron whispered from across the table when Dumbledore had spoken.

"No, he'd have told me…"

"I expect this one's a vampire or something…"

"Arriving in the _morning_?" Hermione asked, helping herself to a large quantity in potatoes from the freshly arrived pile between them.

"Er… maybe not, then…" Ron shrugged, taking the serving spoon from her as she finished with it. Harry could have sworn she blushed as their hands knocked together, which seemed a little odd, but he was too busy piling his plate with chicken and mushroom pie to really care. He'd also just caught sight of the Ravenclaw keeper, Gavin Cross, who had also just been made house captain. He was a tallish boy with dark brown eyes and chin-length black hair. Harry didn't know him that well as he was in the year above, but he always grinned at Harry when he saw him in the corridor and for that reason had stuck in his consciousness somewhat.

By the time they'd finished eating (and Hermione had 'christened' her new found authority by scolding the twins for playing conkers with levitating roast potatoes) they were all more or less ready to head to bed, but they had first years to shepherd up to the Tower and make sure they were all organised for the next morning and the start of lessons. A few of the first years were clearly in awe of Harry and he wondered if they'd be quite so in awe of him if they knew what he had to tell his best friends later that night. He thought not. 

It was quarter to eleven by the time Harry and Hermione had finished helping the first years into their dorms and got them settled, and when he asked them both if they would come to the Gryffindor prefects' office with him for a bit Ron grumbled slightly about wanting to get to bed. But the three of them eventually made their way to the little room in the very top of the Tower and settled into chairs around the large round table. After much stumbling, Harry managed to explain that he had something to tell them. Hermione fixed him with an intent gaze and Ron tried to look more interested than tired, failing miserably.

"Well, over the summer I had a chat with Remus and… well…" he began haltingly, "The thing is, I told him something about myself that I'd never told anyone before – Sirius doesn't even know yet – and he said I should tell you both what I told him…"

"And what's that, then..?" Ron yawned loudly.

Harry fiddled awkwardly with his hands and an uncoiled paperclip that he had picked up from the table, feeling too embarrassed to say straight away. What if they didn't want to speak to him afterwards? What if they thought he was weird and didn't want to be his friends anymore?? Helplessly, he cleared his throat and began to tell them the story of how he had come to tell Remus his secret. "Well, about a week after I saw you two Remus was teasing me because Hermione and I might be Head Boy and Girl. He said it was just like my mum and dad – he and Sirius have been saying it all summer, really – and that we're probably destined to get married, too." Hermione gave a tiny cough and looked at Ron out of the corner of her eye. "I got a bit annoyed about it because I know it won't happen like that and – no offence Herm, but you're my bestfriends, you and him – " he gestured to Ron and continued quietly, "and I just…well… I don't fancy either of you _at all_, okay, but if I did… it wouldn't be you."

Ron's eyes snapped up and he and Hermione looked at each other in bewilderment. "Wh-what was that?"

Harry winced. _Please don't let them freak out…_"I mean to say that… I don't um… I don't actually like _girls_… that _much_…"

"Oh Harry!" Hermione cried, leaping to her feet and dashing around to the other side of the table to hug him, "I've thought so for such a long time – I wondered when you'd say something!"

Harry gaped at her in alarm. "You…_knew_…?"

"_I _didn't!" Ron told him, apparently now fully awake. "Why didn't you say something, 'Mione?"

"It was just an idea I had, I didn't know if I was _right_, Ron!" she told him, looking as though she was about to explode with excitement. "I just knew – even though you pretended to have a crush on Cho and everything – I _knew_!"

"Well, well done Hermione, but… I mean… I can't believe you're…_y'know_, Harry…" the red-haired boy opposite told him in disbelief. 

"I know… I didn't really want to admit it, either, but…" he looked at them both anxiously, "you don't mind, do you? It won't change anything, will it?"

"OF COURSE NOT!" Hermione cried, hugging him again. "I think it's wonderful – it's so good that you aren't afraid of what you are – especially being The Boy Who Lived, and everything – it'll be all over the Daily Prophet, won't it, when people find out?"

Harry and Ron both looked at her in alarm. "'Mione, I don't _really_ think Harry wants everyone to know, just yet, do you, Harry?"

"Not particularly…" Harry admitted.

"Oh but Harry, it would be such a perfect opportunity to use your fame for something!" she exclaimed looking mildly disappointed, "If The Boy Who Lived is gay other people won't be so ashamed of being – don't you see?"

"I don't really think that now is the time for me to worry about that, Herm. Exam year and all that… at least let me leave school first!"

"Yeah, I mean, think of how the stress'll affect his work and everything…" Ron added, giving him a wink behind her back, knowing that school work would be the one thing she would find reason enough to keep it a secret. Hermione sat back down reluctantly. "Well I suppose a year or two won't matter. But I still think this is a blessing in disguise, Harry…"

"Er… yeah," Harry agreed vaguely, having absolutely no intention of telling the world what he had just told his best friends. This was one instance in which he was going to be _completely_ selfish. He shuddered at the thought of Malfoy finding out, then remembered that Malfoy suddenly seemed to want to be bosom buddies.****I don't suppose he'd want to if he knew this…He opened his mouth to tell them what had happened that day in Diagon Alley but Ron was already standing up, yawning, and he decided he could wait another day to talk about that. Extinguishing the lamps all around the walls they headed off down the separate staircases to bed.

At breakfast the next morning a lot of whispers were going around about the newly appointed DADA teacher. He still hadn't put in an appearance and everyone was extremely curious. On the Hufflepuff table someone was declaring confidently that it was another werewolf – maybe even Lupin again – but that argument had already fizzled out on the Gryffindor table when Harry revealed that he had lived with their former teacher over the summer and he hadn't said a word about it. In fact, Remus was working for the Ministry of Magic, these days, having been recruited into the Public Awareness of Magical Afflictions Department, and Harry was sure he wouldn't leave so soon.

"You said he loved teaching, though, Harry," Hermione had reminded him, "wouldn't he give up his job at the Ministry if he could have the teaching job back?"

"I expect so, but I'm telling you: it's _not_ Moony," he insisted through a mouthful of toast. "I've no idea who it is."

"It's a banshee, that's what it is!" Dean told him from three seats down, a mixture of excitement and terror on his face. 

"COOL!" Colin Creevey beamed fumbling for his camera, "Do you think she'll let me have a picture?!"

"Banshees are ghosts – it won't come out."

"Some ghosts come out on film," Dennis corrected him, stuffing his face full of scrambled eggs enthusiastically, "Ivn't wat wite, Cowin?"

"Yeah, sometimes – I saw these great ones in this book once –"

"Banshees are all women – how many _times_ do I have to explain that? Dumbledore said "_He_" – it's _not_ a banshee!" Seamus told them in exasperation.

"Ron thinks it's a vampire, don't you, Ron?" Ginny grinned from beside Neville.

"No I don't," Ron replied hotly, "I was joking."

"Rubbish!"

Suddenly the room fell silent. An almost inaudible gasp rang across the hall. At the teachers' table a tall, thin figure dressed entirely in black had suddenly appeared. His hair wasn't quite short, and looked at though it hadn't been combed that morning. If anything it looked like it had been deliberately messed up. The assembled students gazed at him in a combination of alarm, awe and suspicion. He stared back out at them with round, piercing, blue eyes, then winked as he caught sight of Harry and the others. Harry stared back in disbelief, and gave an almost reflexive wave. 

"Fucking _hell_!" Ron gasped from beside him.

"Oi, Harry – isn't that your godfather?" someone asked in a loud whisper from the Ravenclaw table.

"Yeah…" he told them all in amazement, "That's Sirius!"

Sirius didn't sit down with the few teachers at the top table. Instead he made his way past the students to where Harry was sitting, grinning at them widely. "Hello." He said, apparently enjoying the looks of shock on their faces. "Shift up then, Harry – let me sit down for a minute." Still completely stunned, Harry obliged, and Sirius sat between him and one of the third years who gazed intently at his breakfast, but stopped eating. "Thanks. _So_ – guess who you've got first lesson…"

"No way!" Ron exclaimed from the opposite side of the table.

"Yep," Sirius told him with a mildly smug wink, "_me_." He took a piece of toast from Harry's plate, completely ignoring the large pile in front of him, and started munching away, looking around at them all intently, as if trying to memorise their faces.

"Why the hell didn't you tell me??" Harry demanded, snatching a piece of toast up from the pile and putting it back on his plate as a replacement.

"Wanted to see your face," he admitted with another grin, "I wasn't disappointed." Harry tutted and continued eating. A number of people at the table had abandoned their breakfast and were merely staring at them. "Settling back in okay?" he asked swallowing the last piece of the toast, which he had devoured in three bites.

"Yeah… fine." Harry nodded with a shrug. It hadn't quite sunk in that Sirius – his godfather, _Sirius_ – was going to be teaching them that year. And to make things even stranger (and a little more worrying) he would be teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts. The position was _cursed_, everyone knew that! _Well, Sirius can handle himself, I suppose…_ Harry thought. _Dumbledore wouldn't let anything happen, anyway…_

Sirius checked the time and stood up. "Well, best be off to prepare the lesson… See you in half an hour, then…" he turned to walk away, then turned back and took the replacement slice of toast out of Harry's hand just as he picked it up. Then he winked again and walked away, leaving an exasperated Harry still sat with one hand raised almost to his mouth.

"Git." He muttered under his breath.

"Was he wearing leather trousers?" Seamus asked in disbelief as Sirius swung out of the door at the end of the Great Hall.

"Yeah…" Ron nodded, "I've never seen him wear anything else…"

Next to Dean, Lavender was whispering to Pavarti and when they saw Harry looking at them they stopped and pretended to concentrate on their breakfasts, but glancing at each other out of the corner of their eyes they began to giggle. _Oh _great_ – last thing I need is those two having crushes on him…_

When they arrived at the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, Sirius greeted them at the door. He leant against the door frame, with his arms folded and the same broad grin across his young-looking features. "Come on – in you go." He told them as they traipsed in and closed the door behind Neville, catching his arm as he stumbled. He made his way to the front of the class room, rubbing his hands together, looking as if he was greatly anticipating the moment the lesson began in earnest. But suddenly, he stopped at Malfoy's desk. Crabbe and Goyle were sitting together, gawping at him stupidly, and Malfoy was sitting on his own, looking bored and extremely _closed_. A copy of _Spotlight: Looking into the Dark (Revised Edition)_ lay before him on his desk and Sirius picked it up, studying the cover vaguely. "Lesson one:" Sirius said loudly, "_these_ can go away." 

Hermione blinked and gave a tiny disbelieving laugh. "But Si- um… But Professor Black, we have to learn what's in these – we'll fail our exams if we don't…"

"I set the classes, Hermione, and I set them according to what will be useful for you in the current climate. Dumbledore's wishes. Exams, believe it or not, teach you sod all." There were a few gasps from around the classroom, which Sirius ignored and continued with his explanation. "In an exam you're under pressure, but not the sort of pressure that would help you in a dangerous situation. A lot of people I knew when I was your age were brilliant, _brilliant_ wizards – they could master anything you set them in a book, like our Hermione, here, and Malfoy, from what I've heard-" Malfoy's gaze flickered towards Sirius for a second, then returned to the drawing pin he was gouging lines in the desk with, "but when it came to exams, they just went to pieces. None of you will face an exam in this lesson – not this year." There was a murmur of delight about the classroom. "But you will be tested. You won't know when, you won't know how, and you won't fail. Trust me, on that.

"Second lesson of the day: I'm not a professor. I'm qualified by experience, not diploma. You can all call me Sirius." Lavender and Parvarti giggled excitably from the front row and Sirius shot them a bemused glance. "Everything alright, ladies?" he asked, moving over to them. They nodded vigorously, blushing and eyeing him with reverence. He gave them a wary look and moved to sit on the front of his desk. "Good. So, the rules: you will listen when I'm talking. Now, I don't want to sound like a droning old git who loves the sound of his own voice, but if you don't listen you might end up dead – or worse: _humiliated_ – so it's in your own interest to pay attention at all times. Next one, is that you don't take the piss out of my lenience Mr. Goyle put that down and sit on your hands before I turn you into a toad-" he said in one breath, his wand in his hand without time for the bullish thug to draw breath and drop the dripping quill he had been planning to use to flick ink at Neville in the seat in front. "I will NOT tolerate bullying of any kind - neither in my lesson or to my knowledge _anywhere_, is that clear?" Goyle stared at him stupidly. "GOYLE, I SAID IS THAT CLEAR??" he bellowed suddenly, leaping to his feet, his round blue eyes dark and serious. The entire class flinched – even Harry. Goyle nodded and mumbled "Yes."

"Right. Now, you've seen me angry, lets try to avoid it, shall we?"

The rest of the class passed without incident. The fear he had struck into most of the students with his outburst rapidly dissipated when he began handing out points quicker than Snape would be able to take them and making them all laugh hysterically by cursing an owl he'd borrowed from the owlery fly backwards around the room three times and allowing Neville to fire curses at him just to prove that he could. The main thing they needed, he said, was confidence in their abilities; he reminded them very much of Professor Lupin.

Harry had found his gaze drawn to Malfoy, in the row diagonally opposite. The Slytherin had certainly changed over the summer. His hair was no longer slicked back, and he looked a lot less like his father. Instead, the silvery locks hung level with his cheekbones and he regularly flicked them out of his eyes, either by a tiny, almost imperceptible flick of his head, or by pushing a thin, pale hand through them. He had grown, too. He was still barely average height for his age, and still very thin, but he seemed older. His air of 'Look at me' seemed to have given way to an air of 'Go away'. He kept his head bowed almost the whole way through, concentrating on making notes. It was most unlike his usual self. Not even so much as a smirk touched his lips when Neville accidentally missed Sirius and hit Ron with a tickling hex. Ron had sat balled up on the floor for almost five minutes, even after the spell had been ended, simply laughing at the expression on Neville's face as he did it.

"Hey, Ron, Hermione, I think I need to tell you something…" Harry said as they left the classroom. They hesitated in the corridor ahead of him and turned back. 

"What's the matter?" Hermione asked, her eyes following a number of other students as they passed them by, silently warning them to mind their own business.

"Um… well, it could be nothing, but I think it might be an idea to get out of people's way for a minute…". They made their way into a nearby store room and shut the door behind them.

"So what is it? We've only got ten minutes until lunch and I'm _starving_!" Ron told them. As if on cue his stomach rumbled loudly. "See?"

"Um… it's Malfoy…"

"Malfoy? What's the matter, he hasn't said a peep since we've been back…?" Hermione said, flicking her hair over her shoulder and adjusting her pile of books. She was still a little worried about Sirius's teaching methods, but had chosen to give him the benefit of the doubt.

"I know, but that's not all. A couple of weeks ago I saw him in Diagon Alley and he came up and started _talking_ to me. He seemed… this sounds really stupid, I know, but he seemed to want to make friends…" Harry told them.

"What on Earth did Sirius have to say about it?" Hermione gasped.

"Sirius? Um… Sirius and Remus were in Jones's, they don't know about it… But it was really strange. I mean, he seemed quite genuine…"

"HARRY! How could you be so stupid? You shouldn't have left their sight for a second!" Hermione cried, almost dropping her books.

"They were only in the shop next door…"

"That's not the point! Malfoy managed to find you in that time, didn't he? Who knows who else could have done?!"

"'Mione, calm down…" Ron told her, nudging her with his elbow, "I'm more interested in Malfoy. He could've done as much damage as anyone – his _father's_ loyalties are common knowledge, aren't they?"

"I know, but it's really weird – he seemed… I dunno… _miserable_ maybe. And he seemed like he was making an effort not to be nasty…"

"Well he would, wouldn't he, if he was trying to work his way in?" Ron pointed out. "He's a good actor, Malfoy is, we know that already. Probably been told to try and make friends with you again or something. Don't let him, Harry. He's scum, isn't he?"

Harry nodded. "That's more or less what I thought, but I thought I should tell someone. I mean, I don't want to make a fuss and go about telling Dumbledore yet – for all we know Malfoy might have chosen Light!" he added grinning.

"The only light Malfoy would like is that of the fires of Hell." 

"Well I think it's a bit strange that he doesn't seem to want much to do with Crabbe and Goyle anymore, but basically, yeah. Malfoy's a prat and I have no _intention_ of being his new best buddy – whatever his reasoning," Harry agreed. "But I _would_ like to know what he's up to."

"Well, can't think on an empty stomach, can we?" Ron said, clapping his hands in a gesture of 'Right, let's go!', and he moved towards the door. Harry followed, and Hermione gave a small frown at his back. That boy wasn't to leave her sight for the rest of the year.

It was three days before there were any new developments on the Malfoy front. Sirius's lessons were proving to be more and more exciting. He seemed to spend most of the time playing silly beggars and throwing about random curses to see if people were listening to what he was saying. Hermione was almost at the point of going to McGonnagal to beg for proper lessons, but Harry and Ron had managed to hold her off so far. Potions were typically hellish, and made that much worse for Harry due to the fact that he had the audacity to be the new D.A.D.A teacher's godson. Snape was feeling particularly vitriolic and gave him a detention for "Looking superior" in his very first lesson. He received the notification at dinner the same evening, and when he had turned up at the classroom on the Thursday night he had been surprised to see Malfoy setting up some equipment at the front of the room.

"What are you doing here?" Harry asked warily as he stepped into the room.

"Extra work," the blonde boy replied without glancing up.

"_Extra work_??" Harry repeated in surprise. Malfoy was already top in Potions (second only to Hermione) and was Snape's favourite pupil – what did he need extra marks for?

"Is there an echo in here?" He asked, looking up and giving Harry a slight smile. Harry didn't return in kind.

"I have detention."

"Yes, you do. Welcome."

"Sorry?"

"This, Potter, is your detention. I'm in charge for tonight."

"Where's Snape?"

"Busy. We don't need him. You're helping _me_."

Cautiously, Harry approached the bench. Surely Snape wouldn't let Malfoy anywhere near him if he had the slightest hint that he was in danger. He might not like Harry – in fact, Harry was sure beyond questionable doubt that he _hated_ him – but he wouldn't put him at risk, he was confident in that. "What are we making?"

"A duplication serum. It will grow a clone of anything it touches, except for silver - hence the cauldron." Harry noted, for the first time, that the large pot beside the Slytherin was indeed made of pure silver.

"What for?"

"Because I said so."

"If this is how you're going to be all night I'm going to walk out of here and explain to McGonnagal that I want my detention rescheduled."

"Don't be so pathetic. You're the one sniping, not me," Malfoy replied levelly, crouching slightly to adjust the flow of a drip-tube into a conical flask. An almost opaque liquid the colour of rotting grass was flowing slowly and steadily around a maze of tubing and evaporation spheres, finally leaking out of one end into the cauldron where it turned a fiery orange and hissed with every drop.

"What do you need me for? It looks more or less finished already…" Harry asked leaning over to look into the cauldron. Malfoy fixed him with the appraising look he had given him in Diagon Alley and very purposefully answered: "Guinea pig."

Harry leapt back from the apparatus very sharply and backed away towards the door. "What?? No chance…" It took him a moment to realise that Malfoy was laughing. "What?? You're _sick_, Malfoy!"

"I'm teasing you, you fool."

"Oh." Harry felt himself blushing. How was he supposed to know what Malfoy was up to? Either possibility seemed highly likely. "Well… it wasn't funny. And stop looking at me like that!"

"Turning you on, is it?"

Harry's face drained of all colour just as quickly as it has flushed red. _He can't know! He_ couldn't_ know…could he?_ "Excuse me?"

"Potter, just stop behaving like a blathering idiot, take your robes off and come and stand here. I know Hufflepuffs with more guts than that!" Malfoy snapped in exasperation. "You're supposed to be a Gryffindor! Start acting like one, you limp-wristed nonce."

"What did you call me?" Harry demanded, sounding slightly feeble and feeling suddenly very sick.

"I called you a limp wristed nonce; now, this is a big silver spoon. Is that clear enough for you?"

"Yes," Harry scowled, not at all pleased that he was expected to play monkey for Malfoy all evening. Even two hours with Snape would be better than this. "I'm not stupid."

"Whatever you say. What I want you to do is stir this. Just stir. That's all you have to do. Wouldn't want to confuse you, now, would I?"

"Why am I here if all you need is someone to stir it? You could have charmed the spoon and done it yourself!"

"I asked Snape for you to spend your detention here," Malfoy told him calmly, as he walked around the set-up and made notes on a piece of parchment.

"Er…_what_?"

"You really are thick, aren't you? I'd have expected more from the Boy Who Wouldn't Die." Malfoy put his paper and quill down and stared at Harry. "Look, Potter, I want to talk to you – I tried in London, but you wouldn't listen…"

"Are you _remotely_ surprised? You are the nastiest, most vindictive person I have ever met, Malfoy. You terrorize half the student body and make my friends' lives hell and I don't want _anything_ to do with you. Or your _Master_," Harry told him coldly. A look of such intensity crossed Malfoy's features for a fleeting second that Harry almost winced. His pure white hair and his milky complexion surrounding his cold chrome-like eyes almost gave the impression that he was blazing with blinding white light.

"You don't know what you're talking about, Potter," he almost hissed.

"I think I know exactly what I'm talking about," Harry replied. "You're a Malfoy: self-obsessed, power-hungry and innately evil. I don't want to know – whatever it is you have to say: _It's too late_. I don't hate many people, but you are one of them. You and your Master." He held the other boy in as steady a gaze as he could as he spoke, wanting the message to be driven firmly home. "Since my first day here you have been the biggest pain in the arse I've ever known. Worse than Dudley, and that's saying something. I despised you then and I despise you now. Everything you have ever done to my friends has been fully logged and filed under 'Reasons not to speak to The Minion'. You're wasting your time. And you can tell Voldemort that no plan involving you will work. I'm wise to it. Everyone is. Give up while you're still ahead." He was about to turn and walk out, to head straight to Sirius – or possibly Dumbledore – and tell them he suspected Malfoy was working for the Death Eaters when the blonde boy reached out and grabbed him by the front of his shirt. He gave a small gasp and stared back at him in alarm.

"You arrogant little _prat_, Potter. You really think you know everything, don't you? Snape's right, all you are is a jumped up little boy with a lot of good luck, dancing like a trained chimp in a media circus. _Pathetic_. If Voldemort wanted you he would get you, and next time there would be no escaping. Trust me on that." He flung Harry away from him with disgust and picked up his parchment again. Harry thought that was it, but to his surprise Malfoy kept on talking. "I have _never_ done on anything on Voldemort's behalf. I'm just a kid, you idiot – he doesn't use kids because he doesn't think they can be trusted. He doesn't have half a clue how fucking wrong he is." To Harry's alarm, Malfoy reached into his pocket and pulled out a packet of cigarettes. He lit one behind his hand and stood silently for a minute, wreathing himself in smoke. Finally, he spoke again. "I'm not a part of this. I'm not trying to talk to you because he told me to. I only do things of my own accord. I want to make this up – I want this to _stop_ – and it will. It _will_… You won't keep this up much longer."

"I '_won't keep this up much longer'_?? You think that just because _you_'_ve _developed a problem with having no friends you can decide that I'll be your best mate instead and I'll just come running?? Even after the things you've just said? Well I won't. I will never forgive you and I will never be your friend. You can drop dead, Malfoy. Just drop _dead_." And with that, Harry turned and stormed from the classroom.

When he reached the Gryffindor common room he found Ron playing chess with Colin and Hermione studying her D.A.D.A. textbook obsessively. She looked up as he made his way over to them and immediately stated that she thought he had detention.

"I did. We need to talk. _Now_!" he said tensely, still fuming at what Malfoy had said.

"Wh'for?" Ron asked, his face rested on his fist as he moved his knight in to check Colin's king.

"_Now_, Ron," Harry repeated, tugging at his arm impatiently, "Sorry Colin. RON, COME _ON_!"

"Oh. So it's important, then?" Ron muttered dryly, "I'll be back, Col, don't move a thing – I _will_ know…"

They made their way back up to the Prefects' Room in the top of the tower and settled down at the table, except Harry, who stood by a window, tapping his fingers on his arm. "What's the matter, Harry? You seem really stressed out…" Ron observed, picking up a pencil lying neglected on the table and starting to scribble random patterns on the wooden surface.

"Malfoy."

"What now?!"

"Ron! Stop doing that or I'll be forced to take points from Gryffindor."

"Tut. Misery guts."

"I went to my detention, Snape wasn't there, but Malfoy was. He was setting up some kind of potion and said that Snape had sent me to help him."

"Why?" Hermione asked curiously, "What potion was he making?"

"Oh some kind of duplication serum thing," Harry told her offhandedly, "he…well, this is the strange bit… he said he asked Snape to send me to him for my detention because he wanted to talk to me. He said he wanted to make friends…! I thought right…"

"The sneaky little twerp!" Ron cried in disbelief. "He's working for You Know Who, that's obvious enough, ain't it? He's trying to get on your good side to get you into some sort of trap, Harry!"

"Ron, I don't trust him either, but can we at least listen to what Harry has to say?"

"He's not working for Voldemort-"

"For Pete's sake, Harry, DON'T SAY THAT WORD!"

"-at least that's what he kept insisting. And – I doubt this is significant – but he's started smoking…"

"_Smoking?_" Ron echoed, "Where from? His ears or something? We'll have to look that up – it could mean he's lying or something – some kind of curse so that he can't lie without it happening."

" Er… I meant a cigarette, actually…"

"A cigarette?? As in the Muggle things?" Ron asked in disbelief. "But…"

"Malfoy wouldn't smoke a _Muggle _product, would he? I mean, it's completely against his whole ethos by default. Purely by being Muggle-made…" Hermione agreed.

"I know, but everything he's been doing lately has seemed out of character, hasn't it? He actually grabbed me by the collar in the Potions room – he'd never normally touch me, would he? He'd just throw a hex my way or something..." Harry shrugged. "It's weird. There is definitely something funny going on, but I dunno what."

"But why were you so angry when you came back up just now, Harry? This is all very odd, admittedly, but you seemed really ruffled…" Hermione asked, watching him intently. It was always difficult to annoy Harry very much, but he'd seemed quite wound up when he arrived back in the common room.

"Oh it's just something he said…" Harry shrugged, blushing slightly.

"Which was…?"

"He called me a… a 'limp-wristed nonce'…"

Silence. Harry shifted uncomfortably and leaned back against the wall.

"_Well_," Ron sighed finally, crossing his arms, "he's a bit of a fine one to talk, ain't he? Mincing around like some renaissance dandy half the time. That's the pot calling the kettle black, that is…"

"Ron, do shut up," Hermione tutted, giving him a derisive glance, "Did he sound like he meant it, Harry? As though he knew?"

"I dunno really…" he winced, pushing his fringe out of his face, "He said it really off-hand… I just don't understand what he's trying to do. He got really annoyed when I suggested he was working for Voldemort…"

"HARRY!"

"Yeah, yeah, sorry… But why else would he do it?" Harry moved and sat down at the table opposite his friends, "It's just so… _weird_…"

Hermione frowned and licked her lips thoughtfully. "Alright, lets just suppose for a moment – hypothetically, of course – that he's telling the truth: he's not doing this for Vo… Y.K.W… why _else_ would he want to suddenly be your friend? I mean, there has to be _some _ulterior motive…"

"Wow, thanks, Herm…"

"Because it's _Malfoy,_ you nitwit…"

"I know, I was joking. I just… I _dunno_. All I know is that Ferret Boy's being stranger than usual and he won't leave me alone."

"What if he genuinely wants to make a mends, Harry? What would you do?"

"Tell him where to poke it, eh, Tink?"

"RON!"

"No, he's right, I have already and I would again. Where did 'Tink' come from, anyway?"

"Faerie."

"Faerie?!"

"Yeah…" Ron grinned with a cheeky wink, "Y'know – _faerie!_"

"Oi!"

Hermione sighed and stood up. "If you say so. As far as I can tell, the only thing we can do for the moment is wait and see what else happens. And I think you should tell Sirius at least – it really would be best if a teacher knew, after all… just in case something happens."

"Well… maybe not just yet, eh? It could just be Malfoy being a twat…"

"Harry!"

"Well it could!"

"I still think you ought to tell Sirius at least," Hermione sighed anxiously.

"Alright – here's an idea, 'Mione – we'll tell Sirius if anything else important happens, yeah?"

"Yeah, Herm – Sirius has just started a new job, I couldn't put more pressure on him over nothing… I mean, over something this ambiguous…" Harry added, trying to sound as convincingly rational as possible. Finally Hermione gave a little huff and conceded. 

"Alright. But the moment anything happens, we tell him – and no arguing!"


	2. Chapter II This is the Hour Where the ...

****

Chapter ~ II

This is the Hour When the Mysteries Emerge

"Would someone please explain the reason for this strange behaviour…?"Duran Duran

****

Harry arrived for breakfast late the next morning, sat down at his usual place, picked up a bowl and filled it with cornflakes before he even realised there was an envelope perched against the milk jug. To his amazement he found his own name on the front. It was obvious that the letter had been delivered by hand, as the owls usually delivered directly to the addressee, and he looked around the room, wondering who might have left it there. Across the hall, a pair of steel-grey eyes was fixed on him intently. _Oh not _you_ again! _Sighing exaggeratedly, he ripped open the parchment envelope and pulled out its contents. On them was written a single sentence: "I want to speak to you; lunchtime, at the bottom of the South Tower." It wasn't signed, and Harry almost wondered at the arrogance of the simple statement. Not "I would like", not "Can I?" but "I want." Harry looked at Malfoy, watched him staring back at him determinedly, and any trace of wonder faded. _The little snob expects me to tend to his beck and call? Well stuff that._ Harry shook his head and screwed up the parchment. _I've been way too passive for far too long. Not any more, I'm afraid. _Malfoy frowned slightly, and lowered his eyes. A moment later he stood and strode from the room, barging past Ron as he did so.

"Happy's back to his old self, then..?" Ron asked as he sat down beside his friend, and began to help himself to a full English.

"What?"

"Malfoy…"

"Oh, yeah…" Harry looked for a moment at the bunched up paper in his hands, "He left me this, this morning… He 'wanted' to meet me at lunch."

"Cheeky little…!"

"That's probably why he's in a mood – I think I made it clear I wasn't going to be there…"

"Waddya do? Give him the finger or something?"

"Nah, just screwed it up."

"Should have told him where to stick his little love notes; I would've done."

"I know _you_ would, but much as I love you, Ron, I don't want to be you." He patted the other boy on the shoulder, then thought for a moment and decided to back-track slightly. "In a manner of speaking with the 'love' bit, obviously…"

"Yeah, yeah, I know. So, _captain,_ we got practise today?"

"After dinner? We need to get the rest of the team together, anyway – hold try outs – I posted a notice on the common room board yesterday…"

Ron took a mouthful of bacon and continued to speak through it, hiding his mouth with his hand. "I know. Lost Alicia, Kate and Oliver now, 'aven't we? Bugger it. After that whole Triwizard thing we don't even know if any of the newer kids are any good…" Ron's voice faded out of Harry's consciousness.

No one had mentioned the Triwizard Tournament since school had ended last term. He hadn't told the Dursleys about it because they wouldn't care and Sirius and Remus hadn't spoken about it at all. He'd wondered, once or twice, if they were intentionally steering clear of the issue. At first, he'd been afraid to come back to school; he'd worried that people would blame him for what happened. Admittedly, one or two of the Hufflepuffs had given him sorrowful glances in the corridors, and Herbology had been slightly subdued in the first lesson, but no one had outwardly blamed him. Cho had even smiled at him when they met in the entrance hall before dinner a couple of days ago. But maybe it was worse, now he came to think about it, because for all he knew they may still believe he'd had some part to play; that he could have done more than he did. They could easily be talking about him behind his back. _But that really wouldn't be anything new, would it?_

Harry had been through all that in his head innumerable times. Sometimes he would see the vivid flash of green beneath his eyelids and flinch. Or he would wake up dreaming that Cedric was in his bedroom, begging with him, pleading for help to return to his body. Or that he had died instead of Cedric and asked Cedric to take his body back but realised there was no one for him to take it to. In his dreams Sirius and Remus never seemed to feature. It was a harrowing few weeks, but the dreams had gradually started to fade, which he was greatly thankful for. He had come to the conclusion, after many long hours thinking about it in the middle of the night, that there was _nothing_ he could have done. Neither he nor Cedric had been prepared for… _that_. Cedric knew that when he appeared from Voldemort's wand. He hadn't been angry with Harry, he just asked for that one thing, which Harry had done readily. He couldn't do any more for Cedric, now. He wished it had never happened from the very depths of his heart, but he'd passed the stage of blaming himself. He was just lucky – and exceptionally glad – that no one, not even the Slytherins (and this surprised him deeply), _seemed_ to hold him responsible. That would probably be the one thing he would never get over, but the added fact that a Veritassed Confession had been taken from Wormtail and large excerpts serialised in the newspapers – including an account of Voldemort's return to power – seemed to have satisfied people.

Fudge, bizarrely, was still denying that Voldemort had returned to power, despite accepting the Sirius was innocent and pardoning him on almost identical evidence. Harry had been quite angry when Remus had showed him newspapers from the few weeks before he arrived at the cottage. It seemed that he had actually been caught almost a week before Remus came to collect Harry from the Dursleys'. Wormtail had been apprehended while breaking into a Wizarding pet shop and caught as he tried to bundle a nine foot python into a sack. No one had recognised him at first, and he had been arrested purely for robbery. However, when he was taken to the station and the desk assistant fainted at the sight of him and later declared that he was in fact Peter Pettigrew – a classmate from Hogwarts who had been murdered years before – people became quite suspicious to say the least. Fudge had been out of the country at the time, which proved fortunate as the Deputy Minister – Amadeo Lightweather – was firmly in support of Dumbledore, and a confession was extracted before Fudge returned. At any rate, as had been explained later, even if Fudge had let the Dementors have Wormtail, there would still be a positively identified body. Sirius obviously _hadn't_ murdered Peter Pettigrew, thus raising considerable doubt about whether he was responsible for anything.

"Harry? _HARRY_?? OI, CLOTH EARS!"

"What? Sorry, Ron… Just…um…y'know – _thinking_…"

"About Malfoy? Why-"

"_No_, Ron… doesn't matter… What were you saying?"

"Never mind, come on – Divination in quarter of an hour and I've gotta get my bag, yet…"

Together, they made their way out of the hall and towards the marble staircase. "The others are all going to come out and watch the try outs, by the way – they want to case the talent or something."

"Fair enough. So are we the only fifth years, this year? I mean, none of our-year girls are going to want to, are they?"

"Nope."

"Potter?"

The voice came from the top of the stairs, just ahead of them, and both boys looked up to see the relentless Slytherin bearing down on them. "What now, Malfoy?"

"You screwed up my note."

"No shit, Sherlock," Ron muttered, folding his arms.

Without even looking at Ron the other boy continued. "I want to talk to you, Potter, is that too much to ask?"

"Well, actually, yes. What part of 'drop dead' don't you understand? Just leave me alone, Malfoy. Come on, Ron." Harry tugged at his friend's arm and moved to head the rest of the way up the steps, but Malfoy stepped into their path again. Beginning to feel quite angry, Harry scowled up at him and was ready to snap "get out of my way", but Malfoy spoke first, his grey eyes dark and exceptionally storm-like. They unnerved Harry, suggested something was brewing – not something that would explode in a violent rage – but something that would just spill over and make a god-awful mess. 

"Why are you doing this?"

"S'cuse me?"

"Why are you being such a cock-sure little prat? You don't _understand_ what you're doing, here…"

"No, you're right, I don't – I'm meant to be on my way to Divination, so if you'd just _move_…"

"Ignorance doesn't suit you, Harry… This is your last chance: I _want_ to talk to you, and you _need_ to hear what I have to say. _Will you meet me at lunchtime_?"

Harry stared into the unreadable haze of the other boy's eyes and set his jaw. "No. Now this _your_ last chance, Malfoy, before I tell Dumbledore you're stalking me: Leave. Me. Alone." With that, both he and Ron pushed their way past him and strode off towards Gryffindor Tower in silence. It wasn't until they reached the ladder at the bottom of the trap door into Divination that Ron stopped and muttered. "There was _one_ thing that was really weird about that, you know… he called you 'Harry'…"

Professor Trelawney was sweeping around the classroom in her yards of beaded necklaces and unnervingly rustling robes. "Ah! As I foresaw, my children – they are late…" she sighed as Harry and Ron sat down at the table beside Seamus and Dean and she handed them each a smallish leather pouch. "Do not open them!" she cried as Ron tugged at his drawstring, "We have not yet discussed what is inside…" Shuffling noisily to her vast winged armchair she sat down and beckoned for them all to move closer.. Producing a larger pouch of her own, she lowered her voice to her usual drawn-out whisper. "For thousands of years our cousins in other continents have relied on unusual forms of Divination to bring them news of the future. In here-" she raised the pouch in cupped hands, and gently began to massage its contents through the material, "is the most potent form. Ideally, this should be performed on bare earth, but I am convinced that my psychic influence upon this space is sufficient for the more adept among you to obtain an accurate enough reading." She untied the bag and poured its contents onto the tablecloth. They all leaned closer with curiosity, until Parvati gave a high-pitched squeal and leapt back. 

"THEY'RE _BONES_!!"

A collective "Eugh" swept through the class, and Professor Trelawney waited for calm, a look of mild distaste on her face. "I would not expect those less possessing of the Gift to be properly enamoured of these tokens, but you will all try your hands at casting them." She spread a cloth on the table; in its centre was a circle divided into thirds with small markings on them signifying the numbers one to three. Professor Trelawney raised the small collection of bones in her cupped hands and spilled them onto the cloth. Studying them for a moment she gasped and raised both thin hands to her mouth. "Goodness!"

"Here we, go, Tink," Ron whispered in Harry's ear, "looks like you're going to be abducted by goblins or something…"

"I see Dark things…" Trelawney whispered from behind one hand, the other having been moved to cover her heart as though she was having palpitations. Lavender and Parvati gasped and clutched at each other. "Ronald Weasley…" she murmured, staring at him with abnormally wide eyes, one hand raised to point at him limply.

"EH?" Ron looked around him in surprise, "Me??"

"You will cast away beliefs with which you have grown. The wind of change blows strongly about you. The Darkness deplores you, child, and soon confrontation will come. All will change." She closed her eyes and clasped her hands before her lips, swaying slightly in her chair, "I see opposition and reversal; doors opening, circles completed, a departure from the old ways. Oh! The flames! The flames burn bright…" 

The whole room stared at Ron, who, despite looking rather pale, gave a laugh and cleared his throat. "Well, um, thanks, Professor… I'll…er… keep my eyes open… for, um… fire and stuff."

"Bloody 'ell, Harry…" Ron muttered at they returned to their table, "What's she picking on me for?"

"Dunno," Harry grinned, "but come on, she's only ever got _one_ prediction right the we know of, hasn't she?"

"What was she on about, 'the Darkness deplores' me?"

"The 'Darkness' deplores everyone, Ron."

"But _still_!"

Harry opened his bag of bones and studied them with a slight grimace. _I hope these aren't _human_ or anything!_ "Here you go, I'll do you a reading… It'd probably be a bit more accurate, anyway…" he said, spreading his cloth out on the table and picking up the bones reluctantly before holding them as close as he dared to his face. For some reason he didn't quite understand himself, he felt the urge to blow on them, and was immediately reminded in Professor Trelawney's most long-suffering voice that they were "Bones, my dear, instruments of true Divination; not tuppeny-bit gaming dice" and that the power was in the caster's will, not his breath. Ignoring the comment, he dropped them onto the table and stared at them.

"Well?"

"Erm… I dunno, hang on..." He reached into his bag and pulled out his battered copy of _Unfogging the Future_. Thumbing through to the section on The Bones, he searched the page for the pattern they had cast. His jaw slackened and he glanced from the page to Ron before biting his lip.

"What…? Harry, what's it _say_?!"

Harry slowly turned the book around and handed it to Ron, pointing at the section in question. Ron's pale blue eyes widened and he stared up at Harry with very evident horror. "But it says…it says…"

"_Change_. And enmity. And new allegiances… I _know_." Ron studied the page again as if frantically looking for a disclaimer that stated otherwise. "Sorry, Ron… I didn't think it'd say anything _like_ what she said."

"Harry, what's happening?" Seamus asked, peering over to see the bones on their table. "Ooh, I know what those two crossed like that means – it means a falling out, so it does!"

"It _means_ more or less what _she _said…" Ron mumbled anxiously.

"I wouldn't worry about it, Ron…" Harry tried, "we're not going to fall out, are we? And new allegiances are good things, surely?"

"Depends who you're forging them with…" Dean added, leaning over Seamus's shoulder to take a better look.

At that moment Professor Trelawney swept over to see what the disruption was. She gasped as she looked at the table and cried "Proof, if it were needed!" Quickly, everyone huddled around their table and Ron hunched lower in his seat, looking very red. "Who cast these?" Trelawney demanded, looking at each of them.

"Me," Harry mumbled, raising a hand slightly. _If you were that good you'd have known that, though, wouldn't you?_

"See, children! Mr. Potter has confirmed my prediction: Mr. Weasley will form allegiances with the Dark!"

Both Harry and Ron stared at the rest of the class, who seemed to have started backing away slightly and whispering to each other.

"That's ridiculous!" Harry said finally, "Ron would never do that! He'd never join Voldemort!"

The room winced in unison.

"Do not speak that name here!" the Professor cried, "The Bones have spoken. They do not lie!"

"Well Ron's NOT going to join _Voldemort_!" Harry argued, deliberately saying the name again, "How could any of you say that? You've known him for _years_!"

"And how long, pray, did your parents know Peter Pettigrew?"

Harry stared at Professor Trelawney in shock for a moment before slowly standing up and facing her coldly. "Ron _isn't_ Wormtail, and what happened to my parents is _nothing_ to do with this, you fraudulent old bat! I don't think you'd know a bloody prediction if it jumped up and bit you! Hermione's right – this entire subject's a farce! I'm getting out of here. C'mon, Ron." Silently, Ron rose to his feet, not daring to catch anyone's eye and they pushed their way through the class towards the trapdoor. As Harry reached the bottom of the ladder they caught Professor Trelawney's voice behind them:

"Alas! Denial is a common problem for those without the Sight… Mr. Weasley's fate is written, The Bones do not lie… he will align with the Dark."

Together, Harry and Ron headed back to Gryffindor Tower. "I am in _so much_ trouble, now…" Harry groaned as they started up some stairs. He stopped for a moment and banged his forehead gently against the cool stonework of one of the walls a few times, "I swore at a teacher! God… Hermione'll _kill_ me!"

"You'll be alright, Harry; what's gonna happen to _me? _I'm _not _ gonna join You-Know-Who! I _couldn't_…"

Harry dragged himself away from the wall and continued up the steps, one hand on his friend's shoulder. "I know you're not. We should've listened to Hermione… it's all rubbish…"

"What're we gonna do now?"

"Dunno…Can you juggle? 'Cause running away with the circus is looking good, at the moment…"

As they stepped into the corridor three floors below the one they had started in, to get to the short cut straight up to the Tower, a voice called from down the passage. "Harry? Harry, what are you doing here?" They looked in the direction from which the voice had come and saw Remus hurrying towards them.

"Um… _hi_…" Harry mumbled wincing, slightly.

"You should be in class, shouldn't you?" Remus asked, looking concerned. He reached out to lay a hand on Harry's forehead, "You're not ill, are you?"

"Not strictly _speaking_, no…" Ron muttered awkwardly.

The man looked between them curiously. "Harry? What's the matter?"

"We just walked out of Divination…" Harry sighed finally, "Trelawney said that Ron's going to join Voldemort. We…well, _I_ got a bit… _annoyed.._." he looked at the floor, expecting to be told off. 

"The old battleaxe!" Remus tutted, frowning with annoyance, "I never liked that woman…She's nowhere near as accurate as Professor Scrywell was…" he paused and looked slightly abashed, "But I didn't say that, alright? It's extremely unprofessional." Harry and Ron nodded quickly. "Is that all she said – that Ron would join him?"

Taking a deep breath, Harry shook his head and admitted what she had said about his parents; and what he had said in return.

"Oh _Harry!_" Remus exclaimed, rubbing his forehead, "You can't swear at your teachers – no matter how infuriating they are! I know it was insensitive of her to say that, but if I was still a teacher here _I'd_ give you a detention for swearing at me. You have to be respectful to your teachers if you want them to respect you. _Snape_ would want you expelled for this."

"Snape _always_ wants me expelled…"

"Don't be flippant, Harry, I'm quite annoyed about it," Remus told him regretfully, a look of almost hurt disappointment covering his soft features.

"I'm sorry, Moony, I didn't _mean_ to say it – it just came out! She shouldn't have said that about mum and dad and Wormtail. Or about Ron… I'm going to be in big trouble now, aren't I?" Harry said apologetically. Remus studied him with a dubious gaze, before sighing and laying a hand on each of the boys' shoulders and guiding them back towards the staircase.

"Come on, I'll take you both back to apologise, and hopefully a detention is all you'll get; if you're lucky."

"But I didn't do anything!" Ron protested, "She's the one who started saying I'm going to turn bad!"

"Humour her, Ron, you're a matter of months away from your exams – you can't drop the subject now. It's too late, I'm afraid."

"Oh don't you start! You sound like Hermione!"

Remus gave a small laugh, "When I was at school, Ron, I _was_ the Marauders' equivalent of Hermione, and Sirius, unquestionably, was _you_…"

"Moony, what are you doing here, anyway?" Harry asked suddenly; he was so used to seeing Remus in the school with Sirius over the summer that it seemed completely normal and it had only just occurred to him that it wasn't.

Their former professor made a small noise in the back of his throat that sounded almost like an irritated growl. "Sirius," he muttered, "He persuaded me to do a talk for his second years on being a werewolf…"

"How'd it go?" Ron asked, probably hoping that if he distracted their former teacher enough he might forget why he was taking them back to the lesson.

"Dreadful. They were terrified of me; half of them seemed too scared to raise their hands to ask questions in case I bit them off! Except, of course, for the girl who asked it she could pet me…" he added with an embarrassed shiver.

"_Pet you_?!" Harry laughed, "And what did you say?"

"No, of course!" Remus replied indignantly.

"Aw… I bet she was really disappointed…"

"Are you mocking me, Potter?" he said amicably, lifting Harry off his feet a couple of inches as they climbed the last step, a rare hint of his lycanthropic strength.

"Yes."

"Hm. James would have been, too."

By the time they reached the top of the North Tower the students were scrambling down the silvery ladder at the end of class. They stared at Lupin as they passed and he smiled and nodded hellos to some of them, before ushering Harry up into the room and catching Ron by the hood of his robe as he tried to slip off with the rest of the class. Professor Trelawney was sat in her winged armchair with a cup of tea and staring intently at the trapdoor when they entered, one by one.

"Hello, Sybil," Lupin began, "I hear the boys owe you a bit of an apology…"

"Quite," she sniffed, sipping from one of her precious pink cups.

"Harry…? Ron…?"

"I'm…sorry, Professor Trelawney… for… er… swearing at you…" Harry said in a very forced mumble.

"And for the accusations of fraudulence?" she demanded, haughtily. Harry muttered something inaudible and she prompted: "I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch that, Mr. Potter."

"I said I'm sorry for that, too." _Not that I meant it…_

"And you, Ron?"

"Sorry for walking out of your class, Professor… but I'm still not going to join You-Know-Who…" Ron told her, trying not to sound too defensive.

"Well, we shall see, shan't we?" she replied patronisingly. Ron made to answer, but Remus's grip on his shoulder tightened a little in warning and he held his tongue.

"Okay, boys, thank you. Will you be punishing them at all, Sybil? They've clearly seen the error of their ways…"

Professor Trelawney scrutinised them from behind her over-large glasses before finally warning them that she could 'See' they would not do it again and dismissing them.

After dinner, most of Gryffindor took to the Quidditch pitch to watch or take part in the team try-outs. Katie Bell had left to concentrate on her studies after her marks improved drastically when the Triwizard Tournament had halted play for a year and Oliver Wood and Alicia Spinnet had both now left Hogwarts altogether. They were in search of two Chasers and a Keeper, the latter of which would almost certainly go to Ron, whose place on the team was already secure.

"Right, so, that's the basics of Quidditch," Harry called down to the others, from where he hovered on his broom twelve feet in the air. "Now what we'll do first is have all of you on the far wall of the stand and see who can get to the near end and back again most effectively." 

"Ha! That's gonna be _easy_!" a second year boy scoffed, folding his arms across his chest, "Anyone could do that!"

"Alright, clever clogs," Ron replied, pointing with a beater, "get up the other end – go on – and we'll release the Bludgers and me, Fred and George'll be the other team." The second year didn't move, he merely stared up at them speechlessly. Ron grinned and swooped down to ruffle the youngster's hair, "Didn't think you'd like that idea much."

Harry dropped a few feet so he was just above their heads. "It's not as easy as you might think. It's a dangerous game you have to take seriously. If you don't, you could end up getting hurt, and no one wants that to happen. A Bludger comes at you like a canon ball; it's not going to care that it's aiming for your head while you're fifty feet up in the air or that a fall from that height could break your neck – or worse. To make it even more difficult, the other team's beaters are going to be aiming the Bludgers away from their team and _towards_ you – as the twins'll be doing for us. They're the ones keeping us lot safe. Safe-ish, anyway…"

"Yeah, we'll be flying about –"

"– brandishing our clubs –"

"– and banging the balls – "

"FRED!"

"HARRY!"

"Stop it!"

"Me?"

"Yes!"

"S'all right, Fred, I'll finish," George winked, "And banging a nice pair of balls –"

"_Censoro_!" Harry cried, pointing his wand at the ginger boy, whose mouth was promptly covered by a thick strip of tape. Try as he might, he couldn't tug it off and instead gestured rudely at Harry to show his annoyance. 

Trying not to laugh, Harry turned his attention back to the gathered pupils below him, "So, as I was saying, if you'll ignore these two idiots and make your way down to the far end of the – FRED!"

Fred was hanging from his broom by his knees and appeared to be trying to sprinkle something down a third year girl's collar. He tutted loudly and righted himself on his broom. "You know what, Harry? You're getting really _boring_ in your old age…" He ended the charm on his brother and they swooped off over the pitch, looping and diving in perfect synchronisation as the younger students – who had never seen them fly together before –gaped in awe.

"They're mental, I know, but they're really good beaters…" Harry explained helplessly, before asking them for the third time to head to the far end of the pitch.

As it turned out, the second year boy _was_ fairly good, making it back to the far wall third, behind Dean and Angelina, who had been pacing them. Ron and Angelina then subjected them to some attacking and shooting practise, at which – to everyone's surprise – Ginny excelled. Once they had short listed six new players Ron showed off his skills as Keeper, and saved seventeen shots in a row (including a Bludger George knocked at him deliberately). At the end of the session Harry declared that he and the team would discuss the matter between them and the two new members would find their names posted on the message board by the weekend.

He landed and shouldered his broom to follow the others back into the changing rooms, while Hermione, who had been reading in the stands, fussed with Ron over how good he'd been. Suddenly, in the periphery of his vision something caught his attention. An owl was gliding down towards the pitch. He hesitated, watching to see where it went, and was surprised when it circled his head and perched on the end of his Firebolt, hooting irritably. "Hello there…" he said, holding out his arm so the bird could move to where he could see it. A letter was tied to its leg and he quickly removed it. The owl didn't wait for a reply, but immediately took off again, heading in the direction of the Owlery. 

The thick, yellow envelope bore Harry's name in a neat, pretty hand. The seal on the back didn't have a hallmark pressed into it, merely a thumbprint where the wax had been pushed down. Frowning, Harry opened it and tugged hard at the obviously lengthy letter that had been crammed inside. He scanned down the first paragraph, noting that the handwriting was vaguely familiar. At first, the letter didn't seem to make any sense, but when Harry reached the last sentence of the first paragraph his breath caught in his throat and he quickly read the previous few sentences again. His voice came out in a barely audible croak and he looked to his friends, who were still standing a few yards away.

"Her…Hermione!" _No, no, please God, no!_

Hermione and Ron both looked up and saw his drained face and began to approach him sensing something was seriously wrong. "Harry? What's the matter? You look awful!" Hermione said as she reached him, "You're shaking!"

He handed her the letter and tried to stammer some sensible reply, managing little more than a few croaked syllables.

"What's the matter?" Ron asked, peering over Hermione's shoulder, just as she gasped and clapped a hand to her mouth. "Oh God! He – he _wouldn't_!"

"What's going _on_?!" Ron demanded again.

"B-but what if…?" Harry managed, his green eyes wide and glassy with shock.

"Marauders' Map!" Hermione said suddenly, "Come on!" she grabbed Harry's wrist and broke into a run, back towards the castle.

Draco Malfoy stood by a window facing the Quidditch Pitch until he saw five familiar figures rising into the air on brooms. Thanking the Gryffindor solidarity that took them all to the Quidditch pitch for the try-outs, he took a deep breath and glanced at the bag in his hand. _Time to go._ Slowly he turned and continued up the stairs to the corridor where the painting of the Fat Lady in the Pink Dress guarded the entrance to the Gryffindor common room.

"Butterscotch," he sighed boredly when he reached her. The woman in the painting peered at him suspiciously.

"You're not one of ours…" she observed leaning back slightly and folding her arms.

"Points for observation; however, _I_ have the password – that means _you_ have to let me in," Draco told her firmly. He had no patience with irritable paintings, especially not at the moment.

"I don't think I ought to," the Fat Lady argued importantly, "I have a job to do, you know, and you're not one of ours…"

"Listen, _woman, _I do not have time for your little game; I need to see someone," he lied.

"There's no-one in."

"Well I'll wait, then. Move!" The Fat Lady remained exactly where she was. "You know, you might not want to annoy me – Sirius Black isn't the only one with a temper around here…"

The comment clearly struck a chord, as the Fat Lady gave a small cry and swung away from the wall, muttering about children having no manners. Without so much as a nod of thanks, Draco stepped into the Gryffindor common room. He'd never been into the Tower before, and it immediately struck him how much more homely it was than the Slytherin Dungeons. It was warm and welcoming, the notice board was full to over flowing with announcements and a few group photographs. Above the huge fireplace a House banner hung, its warm red and yellow aglow with the orange light from the hearth. Various personal effects were scattered about the room, left where they were when the room had emptied – obviously, the Gryffindors trusted each other with their belongings, something the Slytherins did not. On one wall of the circular room a huge painting hung; Godric Gryffindor himself slept in a large armchair, his burgundy robes puddling on the floor by his feet.

Draco squared his shoulders and headed towards the doorway marked "Boys" in gold writing, and started up the stairs. He quickly established that the dormitories were on the floor that related to the year, and, noting how suitable of _Ravenclaw_ that small, logical detail was, he headed for the fifth floor. The door he stopped at was probably as old as the castle itself, for across its surface were scratched dates and initials, apparently noting its occupants and the years they were at the school. In the centre was etched "1970 (-1977) J.P; S.B; P.P; R.L – Marauders Forever" and just above the doorknob someone had artfully scratched "1991 – S. Finnigan; D. Thomas; N. Longbottom; H. Potter & R. Weasley". _Hm. I wonder if this could possibly be the right room…_ the Slytherin thought sarcastically. _Typical Gryffindors, needing to mark their territory._

Shaking his head, he pushed the door open and walked inside. Five four-poster beds with trademark red and yellow drapes stood against the walls. To his right stood a bed with a vivid orange Chudley Cannons scarf hung over the headboard and a tatty-looking dressing robe over the footboard. _Weasley, _he thought contemptuously. He shuddered and looked to the next bed. On the cabinet beside it lay a sketchbook open on a page of life studies; a hand drummed its fingers impatiently on the paper. Above the cabinet, Spell-o-taped to the stone wall, was what appeared to be a Muggle poster of a number of men in blue and purple outfits. _The Mud… the Muggle-Born._ Draco corrected himself with a slight wince. He was determined that even now, when it may seem pointless, he would keep his resolve and do things his way. No more Mudblood references. The next bed could only be Finnigan's. Its curtains were scorched and it was hung with a string of Irish flag bunting around the top. Between that and the small fireplace was a badly batteredbed, covered in a heap of clothes which appeared to have been rifled through and thrown out of the trunk at the foot of the bed in quite some hurry. _Longbottom_, _obviously_… Which left just one.

Harry's bed was to his left, behind the large oak door. It was un-exceptional, little personalised like the others, but a well-thumbed copy of _Flying with the Cannons_ lay on the bedside cabinet, next to a photograph in a simple frame. Putting down his bag by the pillows, Draco raised the picture for a closer look. In it was a group of youngsters he didn't recognise. For a moment he mistook a wiry boy with untidy black hair and glasses for Harry, but his eyes were the wrong colour – a deep, sparkling blue. Beside him a red-haired girl smiled and rested her head on his shoulder, waving delicately; _she_ had pretty green eyes – _just like Harry's… _Glancingat the other teenagers in the picture the truth suddenly dawned on Draco; the boy with the thick tendrils of shiny black hair and wide grin was no other than their D.A.D.A. teacher, Sirius Black and the other boy with small, square glasses and a mop of dark blonde hair had to be Professor Lupin. Which meant the girl and the other boy with glasses must be Lily and James Potter. _Or, more accurately, Lily _Evans_ and James Potter; they can't be any more than sixteen, there…_he realised. Over the years, he had made it his mission to learn all he could about Harry Potter. He sometimes wondered if he knew more about Harry's history than Harry did himself.

In the photograph, Black was attempting to rub a non-existent mark from Lupin's cheek with a soggy hanky; Lupin, for his part, was holding him off fairly well, and blushing crimson as he did so, trying to look annoyed while he laughed uncontrollably. James whispered something to Lily, who looked up at him and nuzzled closer, watching as Lupin made a break for it and ran round to their other side to avoid the offending handkerchief. Draco touched the glass for a moment, then took the picture and sat down on Harry's bed, laying it on the blankets beside his leg. One by one he pulled objects from his bag: a letter; a bottle of Muggle alcohol that looked exactly like water and didn't smell of anything, but which he was assured did the job; a number of small containers with French writing on them; a stuffed toy in the form of a black puppy and a picture with one side ripped away. He took the bottle first and opened its lid; he'd sniffed at the liquid inside before, but hadn't tried it. Now, he raised the bottle to his lips and took a large gulp. He was almost sick. _That is vile!_ He grimaced, looking at the bottle with revulsion. He pulled his wand from his pocket and muttered an incantation. The liquid rapidly changed to vivid purple, with an effect like ink had just been dripped into its very centre. Draco took another sip and sighed impatiently, it would have to do.

Next, he stood up and moved to the window. Opening it, he scanned the sky until he found what he was looking for: one of the school owls swooped a few hundred yards away and the Slytherin gave a small smirk before muttering "_Accio_!". A second later there was a whooshing sound and a soft thud as the bird pelted through the window and crashed straight into Longbottom's curtains. It hooted loudly and stared at Draco indignantly. "Oh shut up," he tutted, "you're not hurt. _Petrificus Totalus_!" The bird instantly became motionless and he picked it up and placed it on the mantelpiece, tying on the letter as he did so. Then he returned to Harry's bed and picked up the small containers, which he'd stolen from home. His mother's parents were French and regularly sent her boxes of Muggle pills because of her 'illness'. If his father had known he would probably have had them both killed. No one even knew what was wrong with her, anyway… She slept so much that he rarely saw her and when he did see her these days she was distant and barely coherent. She had been getting worse since he was about eight years old. He could actually pin point the day it began…

Tipping their contents out onto the blankets, a pile of pills quickly amassed before him and he gave a grim smile as he looked at some large, red ones. _They've got to work._ One by one he counted out the pills, dedicating each one to a reason that had prompted him into this course of action. _This one, this one and _this_ one are for you, Daddy; this one's for Cerberus and what you made me do to him…_ He picked up the small fluffy toy, bought for him by his grandmother in the likeness of his puppy, stroked it gently and laid it in his lap. They had died within a few weeks of each other, Cerberus and his grandmother, but Draco had only killed the _puppy_ with his own hands – his father had taken care of his grandmother. _These are for grandmama, these are for smashing all my Christmas presents when I was five, these are for all the times you punished me for crying when you smacked me – I still have the scar, you know…_His thoughts were clipped and emotionless. He didn't feel let down or hard done by as one may expect. No, Draco Malfoy was simply angry. _This little collection is for letting me believe I was valued, not just valuable to you, and these – _he picked up a handful of assorted pills and let them cascade onto the blanket – _this are for my little sister, for what you did to her and for what you put my mother through to get me. And these – _he pushed all the remaining pills into the pile he'd carefully divided – _these, are for you, Harry. This is what you wanted, after all…_

Draco pondered for a moment, staring down at the pills. He didn't want to do this, he really didn't, but it was preferable to the other option. He shuddered inwardly at the thought; it chilled him to his very core. How could he let something so horrific happen to himself – or Harry? But Harry would know, now, they would be able to protect him and he would be safe. If he'd just taken the time to listen to what Draco had been trying to tell him they could _both_ have been safe. That's why Draco had decided to do this just there, on Harry's bed. What was happening now – Plan B – lay wholly on Harry's head as far as Draco was concerned and he wanted Harry to know it.

Gathering up a few of the pills, Draco began to ingest them a couple at a time. He washed them down with the alcohol, still grimacing at the disgusting after taste, but concentrating on getting them all into his system. _I just hope I don't get stuck in this bloody school like some displaced House Ghost…_ By the time he'd finished the pile he was feeling exceptionally fuzzy headed and almost forgot to release the owl to go and deliver the letter to Harry. He struggled up from the mattress and swayed unsteadily, grasping at the thick bed curtains to steady himself, then made his way to where the bird was perched on the mantelpiece. He picked it up on the second attempt and pulled his wand out of his pocket. "F-finite Inc-catatatatum…" he tried, feeling suddenly very woozy; the room had started swimming and he wanted desperately to lie down and go to sleep. _This must be what it feels like… it must be working…_ he thought to himself, "F-finite Incantatum!" The bird ruffled its feathers suddenly and bit him hard on the finger, obviously greatly affronted by Draco's methods of summoning it and making it wait. It flew out of the window and Draco saw two of it soaring round the Tower towards the Quidditch pitch. He collapsed back onto the bed and cuddled the fluffy black dog to his chest, before picking up the torn photograph – it had once been of his parents, but now showed only his mother as he had ripped the half with his father on off – and the picture of Harry's parents and his current guardians and placed them on the pillow next to him. He lay back and closed his eyes.

He felt as though blackness was closing in on him; even though his eyes were closed he felt as though the bed he was laying on was revolving slowly, and he started to feel oddly dizzy, as though he would fall from a great height if he so much as breathed wrong. His thoughts became increasingly scrambled as he lay there – flashes of Harry and his father and his grandmother and Cerberus and Quidditch and soaring over the Forbidden Forest higher and higher and higher until he slipped and was falling further and further and then he hit the ground with a soft _flump_. Everything went black.


	3. Chapter III To Break the Image of Your...

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Chapter ~ III

To Break the Image of Your Father's Son

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"All the flesh, all the sin, there was a time when it used to mean just about everything…" Nine Inch Nails

****

Harry sprinted towards Gryffindor Tower, Ron – still completely clueless as to what was happening – close behind him and Hermione straggling behind, lugging a large bag of textbooks. "Butterscotch! _Butterscotch!!" _he panted as he reached the Fat Lady, "Come on, _quick!_"

The fFat lady in the pink dress scowled at him, "Another one with no manners!" she snapped."Just open, _please_ – it's an emergency!" Harry pleaded desperately, bouncing nervously on the balls of his feet. The Fat Lady narrowed her eyes.

"Oh alright – seeing as it's an emergency…" The portrait swung forward and Harry and Ron immediately darted inside; behind them they barely heard Hermione stop and ask:

"Wait a moment – was somebody rude to you?"

Harry flung himself through the dormitory door and immediately buried his head in his trunk to find the map which had mysteriously re-appeared under his pillow soon after he had arrived at the cottage, "Good job we've got this," he puffed, throwing clothes out of the wooden case, "we'd probably never find the stupid git otherwise…"

"H-Harry…? If you m-mean _Malfoy_, I don't think we're g-gonna need… it…" Ron stammered. His face was so drained of colour that his freckles stood out the same vivid orange as his Cannons scarf. He raised a hand and gestured to the colourless form on Harry's bed.

"Oh no…" Harry's voice was a dry croak as he looked up and saw the boy laying on his bed. He scrambled to his feet, half tripping over his Quidditch pads, and shook the boy gently, "Malfoy? _Malfoy?_ Ron, go and get Madam Pomfrey!" Ron just stared, his mouth hanging half open in disbelief. "RON!!" Ron turned to run down to the hospital wing, but crashed straight into Hermione as she scrambled up the last step.

"Harry, he's-"

"Here…" Harry mumbled, gaping at the Slytherin in muted horror. He reached out and gave his shoulder a firm shake, "MALFOY! WAKE UP!" The body on the bed gave a small groan. "He's still alive!" Harry gasped in relief, "MALFOY, CAN YOU HEAR ME?" 

Malfoy raised a hand to his head and snapped, "Of course I can hear you, you're bellowing in my ear!"

Ron huffed and raised both hands in a gesture of utter incredulity, "He's _fine_, listen to him! And to think I was actually _bothered_ that you might be dead! What is it, some kind of sick and twisted joke, eh? C'mon, Lord Snooty, get up and out of our sodding tower!" He reached down to yank the Slytherin's arm and drag him out of the dorm room, but Hermione stopped him.

"Ron, no…" she said softly, pulling him back. Malfoy was blinking awkwardly, half covering his face with a pale limb. Hermione moved closer to him and gently asked: "Malfoy, listen to me, what have you done?" Without answering, he fumbled for one of the small containers and tossed it at her.

"You took those?" Harry asked, shocked almost to the point of regaining calm, "Right, so - how many? What are they for and where did you even get them in the first place?"

At the bottom of the stairs there was the sudden sound of footsteps on stone and Seamus Finnigan's unmistakeable Gaelic lilt. Immediately, Hermione grabbed Ron and steered him towards the door a look of barely restrained panic on her face, "Get rid of them, quick! _Quick_, Ron!" she hissed.

"But…!" Ron hovered uncertainly, looking between the boy on the bed, Harry and the door, not wanting to miss out on the action.

"We can _not_ let them see him here – they'll have a fit! GO!"

He reluctantly set off down the stairs and Hermione shut the door firmly behind him, bending to pick up the small box. Harry had sat down on the bed and was attempting to lift the other boy's eyelids and check his pupils. He had no idea what he was looking for, but the doctors always did it on Muggle medical dramas….

"Get off me, Potter – it's too late. I took them all – three boxes. I'm going to die – to 'drop dead', just like you wanted me to and there's _nothing_ you can do about it," Malfoy sneered almost proudly, struggling to sit up, but deciding it was too much effort as the room began to whirl around him again.

"You complete _prat_, Malfoy! I didn't mean it literally! You know I didn't!"

"The world doesn't entirely revolve around you… I have my own reasons, wasn't that clear? I'm gone, Potter, get over it…"

"Actually," Hermione corrected, moving closer to the bed, "you're probably healthier than either of us…" Both boys stared at her in bewilderment.

"What?"

"Malfoy, how did you plan to kill yourself with _vitamin pills_? Transfigure yourself into a giant orange without the use of magic..?"

"V-vitamin pills…? Wha-?" Harry stared from his friend to the boy sprawled on his bed, "I don't…?" Then the bottle beside Malfoy caught his eye. He picked it up and checked the label. "Vodka? VOD… YOU'RE JUST BLOODY _DRUNK_! I don't believe it! You… You complete bastard! You complete and utter… _bastard_, Malfoy! Faking your own suicide… That's low. Even by your standards that's really bloody _low_!!"

For once, Draco Malfoy appeared genuinely speechless. He stared at Harry with saucer-sized grey eyes and began to shake his head slowly, but found that doing so unleashed a very aggressive troll inside his skull. Instead, he reached for the pill boxes on the bed and raised them to his face, struggling to focus on the writing on the labels.

"Malfoy?" Hermione's voice was clear and stern and he slowly turned his head in her general direction, his eyes lowered to the rug over the ancient floor boards; he winced as violent flashes ripped through his vision. He felt very, _very_ sick. "Malfoy, give me the boxes, please." She reached out a hand to take them from him and he dropped them a few inches short of her fingertips. Sighing, she stooped and retrieved them deftly, before pointedly studying the labels.

"Well, what else has the idiot been shoving in his mouth?" Harry fumed, staring fixedly at the blonde boy. As far as he could tell the Slytherin had deliberately set this up to scare the living daylights out of him, and as much as he was reluctant to admit it, he had done. Now he was just trying to decide whether he was going to get Gred and Forge to hang him from the Gryffindor flagpole by his underpants or hex him into singing their 'alternative' (banned) version of _'I'm a Llittle Tteapot'_ – complete with full hand signals – while tap dancing in Snape's dinner.

Hermione raised an eyebrow, "Hm. _Saccharin_ tablets – so your teeth are safe, it would seem… and _these_…" she held up a pink box with a simplified image of a woman on and gave a tiny sigh, " '_Pour les maladies feminique'_…Well, let's just say that you probably won't have to concern yourself with _period_ _pains_ for quite some time…"

If Harry weren't quite so annoyed he would have laughed himself silly at the expression of Malfoy's face: sheer horror. _Not so smug now, are you, Minion?_ But the 'Minion' suddenly did something quite alarming. He drew his wand, stared at it for a moment, then fixed his eyes on Harry's. "Pain is the last of my worries… Goodbye, Potter." He raised the wand to his temple and whispered "_Autonovada Kedavra!_". 

In the split second before Draco finished the second word, Harry dived, knocking the wand askew and sending a blinding flash of spearmint-coloured light ricocheting around the dorm until it hit the mirror, shattering the curse into innumerable harmless splinters.

"Oh, stop, _stop_, you fool!" Hermione wailed, shuddering and carefully dancing out of the range of errant shards of the suicide attempt. Harry was pinning the other boy to the bed, trying to wrestle the wand out of his hand.

"MALFOY I JUST SAVED YOUR LIFE – _YOU OWE ME A FAVOUR_ – SO GIVE-ME-THE- BLOODY-_WAND_!!" Harry yelled, yanking the thin magical instrument from Malfoy's fingers and smacking himself in the face with it, causing it to emit violently pink sparks.

Draco stared up at him, his silvery eyes narrowed, "I would have thought, _Potter_, that straddling me was a rather inappropriate position to be in while demanding control of my wand, wouldn't you?"

Harry leapt up so quickly it looked as though he had been plucked off the bed by an invisible hand. He brushed down his Quidditch robes and blushed vividly as he caught Hermione's eye. _He knows. He _definitely_ knows…_

"Malfoy, what are you trying to _do_?" Hermione asked, scrutinising the blonde boy, carefully. He scowled at her and affected a look of mock-thoughtfulness.

"Oh, I don't know – the pills, the killing curse, the suicide note… I was planning on declaring myself to Weasley in the hope that he would elope with me to Kathmandu."

Hermione ignored his facetiousness and impatiently demanded: "But _why? _Why in the Tower and why _us_??" 

"Not 'us'. This is not about you, Granger. Ask Potter – he knows… he knows _everything_, now…" Harry shot Hermione a blank look, shaking his head slightly. "The letter?" Draco reminded her, a look of impatient wonder on his pale face, "It's all in the letter: my father, Voldemort, the way I feel about _him_ – 'why I'm doing this'… Do you really think I'd do something like this without a full explanation?"

"W-why would you tell _me_ how you feel about _Voldemort_?" Harry asked, running a hand through his hair and sitting down heavily on Ron's bed; this was simply too bizarre. He'd been through such a wild range of emotions in the past ten minutes that he didn't know which one he should be feeling any more. Anger that the Slytherin had subjected him to such a nightmare or deep, gratifying relief that the great pillock hadn't managed to do more damage to himself? When he looked up, the other boy was gazing at him, looking as though he had been slapped.

"You – you didn't read it, _did you_?" His voice shook slightly under the heavy accusatory tone of betrayal, "You didn't even _bother._"

"Well, some of it I did, yeah – I… we just ran up here when we'd read the first bit – I didn't read all of it…" Harry admitted, feeling inexplicably guilty. He knew by the look on the other boy's face that he'd said something very wrong. Maybe this wasn't the wicked prank he'd taken it for.

"'We'? What do you mean, 'we'? You didn't let _them_ read it?" Malfoy's face was pure white. He was mortified. Weasley and Granger had read the letter he had painstakingly written out for Harry? _Just_ for Harry. _Now_ he genuinely wanted to die; on the spot preferably. He was so deeply humiliated that he could feel a lump clogging up his throat. He concentrated on forcing it down, remembering how his father had taught him how not to cry - never to cry. Crying was for babies – babies like Lilith. And look what happened to little Lilith… His eyes began to burn. He rubbed at them with the balls of his palms and whispered "It was _private_, Potter, _private._"

Harry stared at him. He wasn't sure if Malfoy had suddenly lapsed into drunkenness, madness or some side effect of taking the 'girly pills', but his demeanour was rapidly sinking frighteningly close to what Harry would label 'tearful', and Harry didn't like it one bit. "Malfoy… Hermione barely looked at it – I didn't think about it, I just panicked when I read what you were going to do! No one's ever told me they were going to… y'know: do _that_, before!" he gestured vaguely towards the bed where the scattered articles lay, "What did you _expect me_ to do??"

Malfoy struggled to his feet, "I expected it not to matter. I _expected_ to be dead before you got to me…" 

Harry fumbled in his robes trying to locate the parchment and was meekly handed it by Hermione, who had kept hold of it when they ran back to the castle. Malfoy winced and shook his head in obvious disbelief. "Here," Harry said struggling to do something positive, holding out the letter for the other boy to take, "If you don't want us to read it, you can have it back." 

Draco stared at it. God, how he wanted to take that letter back and for none of this to ever have happened! It had seemed so desperately important that Harry knew everything – but that was when he thought he wouldn't be around to face the consequences. But if he took the letter back, Harry would never know what was going on. If just ran out now – through that common room full of Gryffindors – they would all think he was madder than he thought himself for ever doing this in the first place. And Harry needed to know what was in that letter. He really needed to know. He'd already been humiliated by his own stupidity, how could it get any worse? And maybe… maybe there was still a chance that things would turn out alright, as though Harry had listened to him before… So Draco Malfoy swallowed with great difficulty and shook his head, provoking the aggressive troll even further. "You have to read it."

"But, you said…"

"Read it. Just you." He turned his eyes to Hermione, giving her a meaningful look.

Against her better judgement, she glanced at Harry and cleared her throat to speak. "You know, I should probably go and check on Ron – he's been worryingly good at keeping Seamus and whoever else out. I'll be _just downstairs_, Harry – all you need to do is call and we'll be up here as though we'd apparated," she began to back towards the door, "Just call, okay?"

Harry nodded. _I'll call if I'm not dead before then,_ he thought, knowing somehow that Malfoy really didn't pose a threat – although it was a fairly intriguing way to get him alone. "So…" Harry began, not sure what Malfoy was hoping he would do.

"Read it, Potter," he ordered quietly, as Harry eyed the envelope uneasily, "this is quite serious, you'll find."

"But _why_, Malfoy? Why me?"

"_Read it_, it explains everything. I don't believe I could put that into words again."

Studying him uncertainly, Harry unfolded the parchment again. He took a deep breath and began to re-read, absorbing the neatly written sentences proclaiming that he wanted to be perfectly clear that it wasn't "tediously puerile teenage angst" motivating him; the simple, matter-of-fact statement:

"I feel that the only justifiable course of action is to take my own life."

Harry paused at the end of the paragraph, glancing up at the other boy. He was reclining on Harry's pillows, studying something in his hands. Harry sighed silently and continued reading.

"I am aware that the animosity between us is long standing and deep-rooted, but I wish to break the cycle. It is a pity that my death would be the only way for it to cease, but I tried to speak to you and you refused. I do not blame you – I have treated you badly, worse than was necessary, but I had reasons, however poor.

"The most important issue at stake is your safety. Voldemort has returned, as you know, and he is reining in all those who chose Darkness before. Beyond that, he is gaining new converts, corrupting the minds of more innocents and planning to absorb the final dregs of power he requires, by way of the Darkest magic he possesses. Within a year there will be a brutal assault on the Light side and the Order will suffer great losses if nothing is done to stop it. I do not know what it will entail, but it will come in the summer, shortly after a ceremony he will hold to finalise his Imperia. Your body will be the centrepiece of a celebratory feast. If you ever wondered how the Death Eaters acquired their name, now you know: they devour the corpses of their victims." 

"Cannibalism?" Harry whispered, feeling quite queasy, "They _eat_ people?"

Malfoy nodded, "The last taboo… They take great pride in the fact. It is the greatest disrespect that can be paid to a victim."

Harry shuddered and hesitantly returned his eyes to the parchment, unable to comprehend quite what he was being told. Things were slowly growing clearer, though – Malfoy had confirmed that Voldemort was after him again; there wasn't a lot else he needed to know.

"It will be the culmination of a plan he set in motion before you were born, and it was the reason for my conception. Some people 'find' their vocation;, I was given one before I was even conceived. I was to feature in someone else's master plan and become part of the Blackest dictatorship our world has known. But you foiled him when he came for you."

Harry paused again, ice in his veins. "But youdestroyed foiled him when he came for you…" _When he came for _me_?_ "Malfoy, you s-said here that Voldemort…"

"Came for you?" Malfoy finished quietly, glancing at him with an eyebrow raised, his eyes distant and glistening, "Yes, he wanted your parents to join him – and when they didn't he destroyed them – but more importantly he wanted _you_." Harry stared at him, wide-eyed and completely speechless and after a moment Malfoy continued, "Your parents were exceptionally good wizards, Harry…" he hesitated, glancing down to his left, "it was obvious that any child of theirs would be phenomenally powerful. He wanted your Life. A strength such as yours would be priceless to him."

Harry closed his eyes. _She really did die to protect me…to save me from him. _He looked up to his bedside table, searching for the picture of his mother and father and Sirius and Remus – the four people who meant more to him than anyone else in the world – but it wasn't there. He drew a sharp breath and stood up. "Where is it?!"

"What?"

"My picture of my mum and dad!"

"It's here, Harry…" Malfoy said calmly, handing it to him, "I didn't hurt it. I just looked…"

Harry snatched the picture from him and held it close to his chest, studying the Slytherin awkwardly. "It's my family…" he said quietly, not taking his eyes from Malfoy's.

"I know; James and Lily, and Black and Lupin. They look very young. Our age."

There was something in Malfoy's voice that seemed almost soft; that almost seemed to care that two of the people in the picture were dead and that the other two had been torn apart by their loss. Harry hesitated then moved to sit on his own bed, beside him.

"They _were_ our age… It was mum's sixteenth birthday, Remus told me…" Harry held out the picture to show him, "She has a card poking out of her pocket, see? Dad made it for her." 

"Very thoughtful of him."

Harry smiled distantly for a moment; "Yeah, he was very kind… So I'm told." He swallowed with difficulty and shrugged, attempting an air of impassivity. It wasn't very convincing.

"You should read the rest of the letter, Harry, it's rather important." Taking a deep breath, Harry laid the picture on his lap and returned his attention to the parchment. 

"You destroyed his power and left me redundant. My parents were stuck with a baby neither of them actually wanted and I was brought up at arm's length by a father who loathes me and a mother who resents me – however much she would try to hide it. I couldn't even get my birth to my father's specifications, you see, and he insisted upon a caesarean section so that I would be born on time. Only, there were complications and I was still born behind schedule. I was almost two months premature and so weak I nearly died then, which of course would never have done at all, because Voldemort would have been furious if my father had failed him. My mother was left with a livid scar across her stomach, and she never forgave me for that, but at least she grew to love me – which my father never did.

"All through my childhood I was taught that he would return and that I would be "Of great assistance to him", I was led to believe that I would be at his right hand. I was a child – a Malfoy heir – to have power and to impress people was what I was brought up to crave; if I was Voldemort's right-hand man I would surely have all the power and influence I could imagine – what did it matter what the cost would be? At least, that is how my juvenile mind saw it. I became arrogant and self-assured beyond my station; it was expected of me. Ineeded that attitude to carry the weight of what I thought I was to become. I had no idea that it was simply to cover what they had planned for me. 

"As a Malfoy there are certain 'qualities' that you are expected to portray, and many which you are not. To ensure I became a model member of the family, I was 'trained' by my father. This included physical, emotional and psychological abuse, although I did not recognise it for what it was at the time. I was sent to school to be taught by one of my father's fellow Death Eaters. I was more greatly versed in the Dark Arts before I came here than most of the wWizarding world will ever be. I enjoyed it, when I was a child – I practised cruel little spells on animals at the Manor, just little things like turning them inside out or expanding the heads of mice or rats in the grounds until their eyes popped out. I regret it, now, but I don't believe it is much worse than pulling the legs off crane flies – especially in contrast to my father's actions.

"However, my father is a brazen hypocrite and despite his using any creature from Muggles to house elves as subjects of torture with which he planned to harden me to the suffering of others, he punished me for my actions. I had a puppy at the time, a black labrador named Cerberus whom I utterly adored; my father made me kill him, he made me slit his throat. I can remember it clearly; I refused at first, so he put me under Imperius and made me do it, then punished me severely for disobeying him. My paternal grandmother was the only member of my family who I was close to. She never approved of the way my father raised me, and made it quite clear how she felt about the incident. Around the same time my mother fell pregnant again – she gave birth naturally to a baby girl when I was eight years old…"

Harry stopped reading, "I didn't know you've got a sister…"

Malfoy didn't look at him, "Keep going, Potter…" 

"-but her gender was her curse. Death Eaters consider women weak and inferior. He did not want to be the first Malfoy to spawn a female in a century and a quarter, so he killed her. And then he killed my grandmother.

Harry clenched his teeth. Lucius Malfoy had killed his own child and his own mother. He hadn't even had a reason – not even a feeble excuse such as loyalty to a Dark Emperor. He had just killed them as though a life could be thrown away that easily. Harry clutched the parchment, his hands shaking with rage and horror. He had no idea what to say, but if he didn't hate Lucius Malfoy before, he would happily prove that he did now.

"Malfoy… I'm sorry… about what your father did… I-"

"Don't."

"I'm _really_ sorry, I didn't know…"

"Potter, you didn't hold a wand to his head and make him do it, so you can drop the patronising sympathy act."

"I'm not patronising you! I'm genuinely –"

"Sorry. Yes, you said. And will you _stop_ calling me 'Malfoy'? Don't you _understand_? I was planning-to-kill-myself-to-escape-my-father-and-what-he-plans-to-do-to-me. Do you honestly think I want to be called by his name?" Draco said through his teeth, as though talking to a small child.

Harry felt himself blushing. _I _think_, Harry, you prat, that he might just be serious._ "Alright, I'm sorry…" Draco cast him a derisive look, "It's just that… well, you'll _always_ be Malfoy to me." 

"Oh thank you, I'm touched."

Malfoy didn't sound touched. He sounded as though he wanted to garrotte him with his own bootlaces. 

"It's been four years… _Draco_… I'm sort of used to hating you." Harry replied, half-joking.

"Yes, and I'm sure it's been a pleasure."

"What do you mean by that? I was never the one looking for a fight! _I_ didn't harass your friends or behave like a complete prat for five years, did I? I wasn't exaggerating when I said I couldn't stand you, you know… You've been 'insufferable', as Snape would say, although never about _you_, of course."

"Well if you'd stop prattling and just read that damn letter you might understand slightly better," Draco snapped, narrowing his eyes and rubbing his temple, "Just read it and don't whine at me again until you've finished… I have one hell of a headache."

Harry thought about making a retort about whose fault that was, but decided against it. It wasn't worth the aggravation. He shot Malfoy one last disgruntled look and settled further back on the bed to lean against the headboard. 

"My mother was broken by grief at losing the little girl she had wished for since she was a child herself. I was a boy and she had never wanted a boy, so I simply wasn't good enough. She still loved me, but she hid herself away and even from the day it happened I was aware that she wished it had been me. So I spent my time trying to please my father, trying to win the fatherly affection I was deprived of from the moment I was born. And when, just before my first year at Hogwarts, Voldemort returned, I suddenly had a genuine purpose again. My father attempted to find him and finish the work he had begun with my conception, and I was very much the Golden Boy for the first time in my memory. A new form of training began. He made me torture living creatures – sometimes Muggles – so that I would come to view them as sport and become resilient to their suffering. I was further tortured myself, with the use of the Unforgivable Curses and other almost equally potent spells. I had learned not to cry from the age of eighteen months, because the more I cried, the more my father gave me reason to cry. I was developing into a 'perfect' Malfoy. With this extra training I grew into the cold, spiteful creature you met at school."

"Your father…?" Harry couldn't finish the sentence, because he didn't know what to say. He paused and reassembled his thoughts. _I suppose I should have known, if the man can kill his own family that would be nothing to him. No wonder Draco's so messed up._ But what did you say to someone who had been tortured by their own father? Harry was certain he didn't know.

"Yes, yes, he used the Unforgivable Curses on me; common practise in child discipline among his supporters, I believe. Keep reading." Malfoy's levity regarding the matter alarmed him. _But then, _he realised,_ the Dursleys would have done it to me if they'd known how, and I don't find it shocking. Not _very_., anyway… _

As he read through the careful script he felt his stomach drop as memories flooded back. Malfoy (_Draco, whatever…)_ had written about their first meeting – in the robe shop down Diagon Alley – and Harry was amazed both at how clearly the other boy seemed to remember things that had happened years before and to find that his own memories were just as vivid. He could still see the fleeting wounded look on the Slytherin's face when he had refused to take his hand on the train. _It was just his pride that got hurt back then; smug git,_ Harry assured himself, casting another glance at the other boy. He was sitting back, propped against a pillow, his eyes closed. _Oh, go on, make yourself at home, don't worry about me, Malfoy._ He gave him an irritated look and turned back to the letter.

"I was brought up with stories of you, Harry, twisted, disproportionate stories full of bias and fundamental lies. You were portrayed as a monster and as an entity to be revered and respected, intermittently. I was never sure if you were to be my enemy or someone I was expected to affiliate myself with in the hope that if Voldemort did not return to power, we would at least be on the winning side. And then I met you in person. It threw everything out of perspective because I was drawn to you almost magnetically. You were nothing like my father told me, but you automatically caused such a stir all about you and I was fascinated. I couldn't stop talking about you; I would go so far as to say I was obsessed.

I realise, now, that you were like me in many ways: a product of your upbringing; a casualty of the environment in which you have always lived. It is no more your fault than it is mine, the way we have turned out. I don't deny that I was phenomenally jealous of you. I don't recall why, but I knew from the moment I met you (in Madame Malkin's, being measured for robes before we started school, do you remember?) that I liked you. I remember your ridiculously out-sized clothes – a red checked shirt and jeans – and your hair was a complete state; your glasses had been so shoddily repaired they looked as though they would fall apart at any moment. You were pleasant and seemed so much brighter than the idiots I was used to, even though you seemed so in awe of it all and didn't look any wealthier than a Weasley, and I gabbled on about how excited I was to be starting secondary school. I didn't know then, of course, that you were the Great Harry Potter, that you had no idea what was waiting for you... But you were going to Hogwarts, and I hoped even then that you would be sorted into Slytherin where I was certain to go."

__

Well, near miss there. Thankfully.

"When I approached you I genuinely wanted to rescue you from what I had been brought up to believe was a fate worse than the Dementors' Kiss: associating with those beneath you." 

__

And you were on my level, I suppose?

"I was brought up to believe that I was superior – a wealthy pureblood –"

__

A spoilt little bigot is how I would've put it, I think.

"I could have shown you an entirely different world. In retrospect I am deeply glad that I didn't, because it would have made it so much easier for Voldemort and my father."

Harry paused in reading. He thought back to what Ron had said in the storeroom after D.A.D.A. that day: 'The only light Malfoy would like is that of the fires of Hell…' _Maybe you were wrong, Ron. _

A small voice in the back of his mind – that sounded remarkably like his quick-tempered friend – argued:

_He's saving his own skin and trying to twist the knife in his dad's back as much as he can, Harry! It's not about you – he's a scheming little git! _

Harry stared at the other boy for a minute. He hadn't moved and Harry was just starting to wonder if they'd underestimated the effect of a box of saccharin tablets when his eyes snapped open.

"Yes?"

"Um… nothing, I was just…"

"Where are you up to?"

"Um… just the bit about being glad your dad couldn't get hold of me because we're not friends…" Harry explained, scanning down the page.

"Oh. Then you don't have a _reason_ to stare at me like that, yet. _Keep reading_, will you?"

"A reason for what?" Harry asked, confused, but the look Malfoy gave him quickly killed the words. "I'll just keep… er… yeah…" He returned his eyes to the parchment with the oddly relieved feeling he was sure he would get if he fled the room.

"But I was deeply resentful of Weasley and Granger. You see, they were classic examples of the type of people I believed were beneath you. And it was obvious that you thought I was the one that was beneath you, not vice versa. I was greatly affronted, and you left me feeling the unthinkable – I was jealous of a pauper and a Mudblood!"

"You've really got a way with words, Malfoy, I'll give you that," Harry said, annoyed at the description of his friends.

"Oh for pity's sake, Harry! JUST READ IT!"

Harry did as he was told. Malfoy actually was quite scary when his eyes flashed like that.

"For years I was drawn to you like a moth to a flame. And I kept on getting burnt – and slapped – and yet I still carried on. It took until the third year for me to realise – or maybe to accept – the reason I took such great delight in being vicious towards you." 

__

Other than the fact that you're a nasty little git? 

"When I was cruel to you or your friends you noticedme. It was undoubtedly a rather masochistic manner in which to conduct myself – certainly a second-rate way to get what I wanted so very much – but while being malicious and venting my anger and resentment for those you chose to surround yourself with, I also attracted your attention."

__

Erm… "Malfoy?"

"Oh for God's sake, Harry!"

"What do you mean?"

"I _mean_ you're getting incredibly irritating."

"No, in the letter… about… um… me _noticing_ you…?"

Malfoy murmured "Oh…" and gave him a small nod. He leaned over and scanned the parchment, before pointing out a paragraph then ducking back to his side of the bed almost self-consciously and closing his eyes. Harry could have sworn a pink tinge was colouring his cheeks, but felt sure that the Slytherin was above blushing.

"When things happened to you, Harry, I was ripped in two. Half of me was glad, because every terrible encounter was one step closer to my own freedom; the other half was distraught because I was terrified of losing you, even though you were really something I never had for myself. Some time over the past four years I accidentally stepped over that fabled fine line between love and hate. And the stronger the love grew, so did the hate I felt towards you. You ruined everything I'd been trained to be – everything I thought I was. You worked your way under my skin and nothing and no one mattered as much to me as you did; no one could leave me feeling as pathetic and worthless as you – not even my father. Your opinion – the way that you perceived me – was everything to me; but the way I wanted you to perceive me was the way my father wanted me to be, not as someone you could ever have considered as a friend. As far as I understood at the time, it was those so-called 'qualities' that made a person worthy. 

"You became my weakness and at times the thing that spurred me onward. I craved your attention as much as I did my father's, even if it was only to call me names in retaliation to my own actions. When my father told me what is planned for us both the only thing I could think of was that I had to tell you – to warn you – and that doing so would make things all right. I never expected it to be an easy task, but I wasn't convinced it would be impossible. Clearly, I was mistaken.

"If you're reading this letter now, I will have gone through with my secondary plan and the ridiculous hopes I never truly dared to entertain will have become impossible. I'm sorry, Harry, for what I was, and I hope you will realise that despite my actions, I was always on your side.

Look after yourself – you will need to,

Draco. x"

Harry blanched at what he had just read, then felt embarrassment flood his cheeks. He ran through it a few times, not sure what to make of it. He tried not to look at the other boy sitting tensely beside him, but the more he tried, the more it felt his eyes being drawn to him.

"There's no need to look so utterly horrified, I don't plan to molest you." 

Harry cast the other boy a bashful glance and mumbled that he wasn't horrified.

"Well you don't appear to be praising Hecate," Draco observed, dryly.

"That's 'cos I'm not."

"So you _are _horrified."

"No, I'm just a bit…"

"Mortified?"

"_Shocked_," Harry decided, "Shocked and quite embarrassed, if you must know…"

Draco sat up straighter and adjusted his position against the pillows, adopting a rather disconsolate air; "So you find it embarrassing, do you? Well I hardly feel the urge to charm it into the clouds in the Hall, but there's no need to be rude." 

"Malfoy, I – sorry, this is really hard to get used to… _Draco_ – I wasn't saying that. I just meant that I'm really, _really _surprised-" _More than you could possibly appreciate, trust me._ "-And I… nobody's ever… I mean – well, I don't think anyone's really had a proper crush on me apart from Ginny and –"

"It is not a _crush_!" Draco snapped, sounding disturbingly like Snape for a moment, "What do you take me for, some enraptured thirteen year old girl?" He made to stand up, wobbled precariously, then sat back down on the bed, trying to look as dignified as possible. No escaping just yet, then. "I'm insulted."

"Yes, well, I know how _that_ feels – as do my friends, thanks to you."

There was an awkward silence while they looked away from each other in mutual annoyance.

"Did you know about me?" Harry asked finally, the question rising into his mind as he wracked his brains for incidents in which he might have spotted clues; the recent occasions in which he'd made references to Harry's sexuality sprang simultaneously to the fore.

"I know everything about you, more or less."

"Has that got anything to do with this? I mean, I realised you must know from the things you said… that you must have found out from _somewhere_, but…"

"Wait – what specific issue are you talking about?" 

Harry blushed still redder, "About… y'know, me being gay …"

Draco was sitting with his back to Harry, but it was still obvious when his shoulders tensed at the words. "You're _what_?" 

Harry closed his eyes, kicking himself for not checking Draco knew first and thinking up a string of expletives that the Ttwins would have been proud of. "It doesn't matter." 

"Oh it most certainly does! After what I've just confessed? I think you owe me that."

"Alright, alright…I'm…" his voice dropped to a half-whisper, "…gay."

Malfoy gave a small snort of a laugh, "Well, I do believe all my Christmases have come at once." 

"What? I didn't say I felt the same!" Harry protested ardently, "Just because I like someboys doesn't mean I like all of them!"

"Quite. And you've also never experienced a Malfoy Christmas."

Harry wasn't sure he could answer that. He stammered silently for a moment before attempting a line of questioning that wasn't quite so personal. "Draco, why didn't you say any of this sooner?"

"Do you really think it would have made any difference?"

"To some stuff, yeah!. If Dumbledore knew he'd never have let all this go on – he'd have had your dad locked up in Azkaban before now for what he's done." 

"Precisely. That is precisely the point. He is still my father, and up until a few pathetic weeks ago I still believed every line he fed me. It is only recently that I have even begun to want to escape. Do you realise what will happen to me when people discover what I've told you? There are far more Dark families in this school than even Dumbledore realises. Voldemort is _back_, Harry!. He's getting stronger and stronger and his supporters are coming back to him. When this gets out – when he finds out that I've betrayed him and my father…" he stopped and shook his head as though he couldn't bring himself to name whatever horrors he was anticipating, or perhaps that he felt explanation was wasted on the other boy.

Harry moved nearer to him and gingerly rested what he intended as comforting hand on his shoulder. Draco flinched and almost cowered away from him for a second, as though Harry had made him jump out of his skin. He stared at him with wide silver eyes and mumbled: "Don't do that.…"

Harry was almost shocked by his reaction. He had noted, through the years, that Draco was not the sort of person who was comfortable with physical contact, but to shy away from it so visibly – it just didn't seem natural. "You're terrified, aren't you?" Harry murmured softly, tempted to reach out again, but deciding against it, "Draco… , Yyou have got to trust me if you want my help. And Dumbledore, too – he'll _help_ you."

The blonde boy gave a harsh, stilted laugh. "Dumbledore doesn't care about _me._ How deluded are you? He couldn't care less about us!"

"'Us'? Who's 'us'?" Harry asked uncertainly. Dumbledore cared about everyone – Dark or not – he just didn't want to see any more lives lost. He wanted to avoid the war and return their world to peace, to rebuild a society in which nobody had to live in fear. He wanted the same as everyone else.

"Slytherins, of course! You can't tell me you haven't noticed how he goes out of his way to give you the House Cup, _every_ year. You can't tell me that he doesn't believe that every single one of us is evil, just because ours is the House that spawned Tom Riddle, who _just happened_ to be a megalomaniacal psychopath." 

"Of course he doesn't!"

"Oh you are just so very _blind_, aren't you, Potter?"

"Well what about Snape? Are you saying he doesn't favour the Slytherins and go out of his way to take points away from _us_ because he can't stand us winning?"

"He was a Slytherin too, didn't you know? He went through this exact same thing with your father and his stupid little gang, it's always been the same."

Harry glowered at him furiously for a moment before telling him through gritted teeth: "Don't you _ever_ talk about my father and Sirius and Remus like that again, Malfoy. He treated them like dirt – especially Remus –they weren't just going to sit back and watch, were they? Of course they retaliated! I really don't ever want to hear you speak about them like that again. I mean it." 

"Why not? I can't think of anything you can do that would be worse than what my own father will do to me when he finds out that I'm sitting here telling you this."

Harry's rage quickly dissipated. Oh he was still angry, yes, but he kept on telling himself that the other boy was stressed out. He was frightened. He didn't mean any of it. At least, he'd better not mean any of it… "Look, Draco, you are going to have to learn to trust me. And Dumbledore. I don't want to see you die. You have no idea how much it terrified me to see you lying there like that… I don't want _anyone_ to die, but if this war is allowed to happen no one knows how many lives are going to be wasted. You've got information on this that could help the Order prevent Voldemort even returning to power. Telling me all this is fine, but you've got to tell people with more influence and authority than just me, and the people with the authority are the ones that can protect you. These maniacs are trying to destroy everything we view as good and right and we've both been drawn into this whether we like it or not – it's a risk we've got to take. " 

"Risk?" Draco echoed, "It's as if you think I don't realise how critical a situation I've landed myself in. I do know. I'm fully aware of the danger, but I did this for you, the rest doesn't matter to me. As long as my father pays, I couldn't care less about Muggles or any of it. I might not agree with them – in fact I abhor what they're trying to do – but I can certainly see why they're so angry. Your perfect little tribe of Light Fighters don't understand anything beyond 'us: good, them: bad', and what makes 'them' bad? That you don't like their methods, that is what."

Harry faltered, looking at Draco's face. He was a picture of defiance. He hated the Death Eaters, yet he could understand their point of view. He had been brutally abused by one of their number, yet he was still gracious enough to accept that they were doing what they were doing for a reason. Harry knew, deep down, that there was something in what the other boy was saying and that for all his intolerance of others, he might actually be less biased than Harry himself. In Malfoy it simply didn't seem to fit. He took a deep breath and tried to change the subject. "Draco, I want to _help_ you. You came to me for help, so let's not argue about this…" The blonde boy took a deep breath and nodded awkwardly. "Explain to me again – why did you try and do this to yourself? Why here? Any why with _Muggle_ pills, when you clearly know how to do it using magic?!" 

Draco swallowed and began to try to explain, "The pills… were a personal revenge for my father. You know how he feels about anything Muggle-related. Snape knows the antidotes to any poison I can make and I wanted to be sure, because for all I know he could have discovered a way to reverse spells like that, as well; ironic, really…After I was 'gifted with the knowledge' of what is planned for me – _for both of us_ – I escaped the Manor as much as I could and spent most of the summer in London. Some of it I spent with Muggles – mingling with them – talking to people I met, sometimes. They're really not as terrible as they are made out to be, are they? Some of them seemed relatively intelligent." 

Harry shook his head with a half-smile. _Well I never expected to hear that from you_! 

"I wanted to find you – warn you what was going to happen – so I waited for you, and that day when I saw you outside Flourish and Blott's I wanted to take the only opportunity I might have. If you had just _listened to me_, Harry!" Draco looked at him, a strange echo of desperation shining in his eyes, "You should never have been out there without Black and Lupin – someone other than me could have found you and who knows what would have happened then?" 

"I know, and do you realise that's almost word-for-word what Hermione said?" Harry asked, intrigued and vaguely amused by the fact that Draco's opinion should be identical to his friend's. 

"Well she was right_._ You should never have been in that position – and they should never have let you be," he said stiffly, obviously reluctant to agree with her.

"Okay, okay – you're both right. I just wish people would realise I can look after myself, sometimes."

Draco flicked his hair out of his eyes, looking doubtful, and continued: "I asked to come with you because I didn't want you to be alone in such an exposed environment… Especially after the Triwizard Cup! I was concerned for your welfare, would you believe? But you refused to even talk to me, and when I went back to the Manor I spent a long, long time thinking about it. I realised that even if I couldn't get through to you in person, you needed to know. I just couldn't let you carry on like that – obviously oblivious to the immense danger you were in – as per usual. If no one else was going to protect you, I decided that I would do as much as I possibly could for you. Except, you didn't want to be helped, did you? You still wouldn't even give me the time of day. But while I was still at the Manor I'd thought out a secondary plan – which I imaginatively dubbed 'Plan B' – catchy, don't you think?"

"Er… yeah… wish I was that smart," Harry grinned, seeing the ironic self-deprecating humour and realising that it was something rare to savour.

"I thought so. And this is Plan B. I'm not letting him have my Life, Harry. I won't do it. And if this is what it takes I will still go through with it. You know all that it is necessary for you to know, so my work here is effectively done. To die now would be adequate – I could do so without leaving anything behind unresolved, more or less. But I don't _want_ to die, I want…" he stopped and looked away, "But we can't always have what we want, can we?"

"No, not always, but it surely depends on what you wish for…?"

There was a lengthy silence. 

"The reason I did this here is because I wanted you to know – to realise – what you had done. I genuinely believed you could help me, but you wouldn't, even though I was trying to help you. So I wanted to show you just how serious this is. It is a matter of _Life_ and _death_ – yours! I thought I could shock you into comprehending the magnitude of the situation. You've played with Death himself so many times that you've started to think you're invincible, haven't you? But you're not, and Life can run out – like…like air from a balloon. It can be released slowly, so that it deflates naturally, or the balloon can burst, releasing it all at once, or – if you work out how – it can be released quickly and caught in another balloon, replace the air which escaped naturally – and yes, that is an atrocious metaphor, but do you _understand_, now? That is what Voldemort wants to do to us – he wants to take _our_ Life to replace _his._" 

"I understand – I do – and I don't think I'm invincible; I'm well aware of my own mortality, trust me. But I don't understand why your parents would conceive you for that _before_ he was defeated the first time?" Harry asked, frowning in concentration as Malfoy began to show signs of becoming frenetic.

"Life _runs out_, Harry.! He wanted immortality, and with a constant supply of Life he could go on _living_ for as long as he chose. But in doing so he needed to take the Life of others. From the point you are born your Life begins to dwindle, to diminish, and it is most economical to choose victims with the most Life within them…"

"Babies?"

"Babies. Correct. I was to be one of the first to be given to him. Most of the boys who are doomed for it now were to be given to him as babies…"

"So they'd all be in our year?"

"Mostly." 

Harry took a moment to absorb this. For all he knew he could be sitting in classes with boys who were destined to die at the hands of Voldemort – upon their parents' wishes – and he would have no idea. He shuddered. It was a sickening thought.

"Are you alright?"

"Um… yeah… just a bit…_y'know_…"

Draco nodded sombrely, "Only too well."

Harry studied him, as though finally seeing through a dirty window still too smeared to clearly make out what lie beyond, but certainly clean enough to gain an impression, "You're serious about this, aren't you? You really _are_ on our side…"

"Yes!" Draco swallowed and clenched his teeth, "How many times do I have to tell you? I'm absolutely serious, and I want my father to get what's coming to him for what he did to my mother and grandmother… and Lilith."

"Lilith?"

"My sister."

"Oh…sorry – of course…"

"It's alright. He made my mother suffer more than he did Lilith. My mother was left to live with the memory of her child being murdered by her own husband, after he had me ripped out of her as though she were already dead… Maybe that's how he wanted her…"

"Dead?"

"She's nothing but a complication to him – it'd be easier if she was dead. He forced a caesarean before I was due, wanting me to be born on Halloween because it's supposed to be lucky. It didn't even work. I was seven minutes late and he never forgave me – _or_ my mother. It ruined her. I actually believe she loved him, once… After what happened during my birth she was almost destroyed, and then he took away the only thing she'd hoped for, – her little girl. She became introverted and remote – she hides away in her wing and doesn't speak to my father unless she has to. She never really leaves…"

"She was at the World Cup, though…"

"Of course she was, my father was playing happy families. She was under _Imperius_, Harry, like a puppet – she wasn't there through choice.!"

"Oh – yeah, sorry, I should have realised…" 'S_hould have realised'! Because, of course, _everyone_ I know has a psychotic father who treats his family like that – of course you should have known, Harry, well done._ "I mean, I should have realised after you said…" he cringed. "I'm sorry – I'm pathetic with stuff like this and when it comes to parents I can't really sort of…identify. Sometimes I think that maybe I was lucky they died when they did, because I can't miss what I never had, can I? I suppose it could have been a lot worse – if I'd really known them and then I'd lost them. I still wish I could remember them, but all I can remember is the sound of my mum dying and that was because of the Dementors… I'm almost jealous of Ron and Hermione at times, because they've got their parents and they've got both of them… I haven't even got one. It must be even worse for you…"

There was another difficult pause before Draco's hushed voice shakily explained: "Losing Lilith sent my mother over the edge… Sometimes there are glimmers of how she used to be, – weeks when she makes sense, – but that is almost worse, because it makes you stupid enough to hope that… that she might get better. She won't, though – everyone knows that really – but if it weren't for me she would have been taken back to France a long time ago. She's sane enough to refuse to leave me with him, but she shut herself away in her own dark little room inside herself and locked the door. And of course, my father won't let me go because of what I am. I have to get away from him, Harry. If I can, then my mother can…"

Harry struggled for words. This was _not _the sort of thing he was used to dealing with – and especially not from _Malfoy_. Suddenly, the almost matter-of-fact tone he'd been using seemed to have crumbled, and he sounded like an entirely different person. All of the years that the other boy had been so hateful and vindictive and Harry had simply blamed it on irreparable character flaws; he had never even thought to question it. He simply allowed himself to fall into a pattern of blind loathing. "I had no idea…" _And not just about your mother._

"Of course you didn't, nobody knows. Not Crabbe or Goyle, or that little yapping Parkinson creature, or Snape or Dumbledore – it's a Malfoy secret, and Malfoy secrets are exceptionally well kept."

Harry wasn't sure if he could stomach any more of these revelations in one helping. Things were already swimming around in his head, making him feel anxious and confused. Dimly, at the back of his mind, he found himself yearning for a Pensieve in which to collect and order his thoughts. He was almost expecting Lucius Malfoy to sweep in through the door and suck out their Life as though he were a Dementor coming for their souls. "So, um… now you've told me…erm… _everything_, what do you want to do? About Voldemort, I mean.…"

"Well, oh Boy Who Lived, you are the expert on him – shouldn't you decide?"

Harry looked at him intolerantly but said nothing for a moment. "Is that really how you perceive me? Does everyone think of me like that? Like I'm some sort of _expert? _That man killed my parents and all of my family! He was the reason that my godfather spent twelve undeserved years in Azkaban! He had Cedric Diggory killed and has repeatedly attempted to kill _me. _If I was an 'expert' I could have found a way to stop all those things happening, couldn't I? I'd know what he was planning now and I could try and help stop it. But I'm not. Whatever people like to see me as, I'm just me. Just Harry. I've still got to take my O.W.L.S, I still get spots and I still get scared when things like this start happening again. It's Dumbledore people should be looking to, not me! I'm only just fifteen years old – what do I know? I want to know nothing about him except for the fact he's dead." 

"I'd want to be an expert on him. Know thine enemy."

"Well I'm not you. We're different_t_, Malfoy…" 

"Glaringly so," the pale boy replied, staring towards the window, "But also not."

"_Not_? Look, don't start telling me we're soul mates, now, Malfoy," Harry said wearily, "I've never believed in that kind of thing, and I'm not about to start." He paused before adding: "And I never thought you were the type to, either."

Draco turned back to look at the Gryffindor with dulled grey eyes, "You don't know me." He took a breath and pointed out challengingly: "We both want to avenge our parents, don't we?"

"Well, yes," Harry agreed hesitantly, "but…"

"We've both had difficult childhoods, haven't we?" 

"I – I suppose so, yeah, but Malfoy, look…"

"We both have very deep emotional matters that need to be dealt with, don't we?"

"Well, you could put it like that, but I still don't really think…"

"Face it, Harry, we have things in common. I know how it must pain you to acknowledge the fact, but it's true, and the things which you and I have in common are the ones you cannot share with Weasley and Granger."

"They understand," Harry insisted, not wanting to admit that there was some truth in what the other boy was saying. 

"I'm sure they _try_ to understand… For what it's worth."

"It's worth a _lot_!"

"If you say so; but I think we could understand each other far better."

Harry scrutinized him carefully, "Are you coming on to me?" he asked dubiously after a moment.

"Don't flatter yourself, Potter."

"You're the one who just declared undying love, Malfoy."

"Oh, you're such a Gryffindor! Everything has to be so black and white for you, doesn't it?"

"Well call me mad and everything, but when someone tells you they love you and they want to 'protect' you how else are you supposed to take it? I take it to mean they're stupid enough to love me and want to protect me!" Harry retorted, before adding more softly: "And it's really not a situation I'm used to at all, okay?"

Malfoy studied him silently before shaking his head in apparent disbelief. "Half the world loves you and wants to protect you and you don't even realise it, do you?"

"Maybe half the world wants a good look at my scar and to be able to say they've met the Boy Who Lived as if I'm some sort of film star, but they definitely don't love me, Malfoy," Harry sighed, "I doubt that even you would still think you did if you really knew me."

"Prove me wrong."

"Pardon?"

"Prove me wrong. Prove to me that you're not the person they all think you are. And try to disprove that you're the person who ruined my life."

Harry stared at him. "I didn't ruin your life!"

"I'd say that was for me to judge, wouldn't you?" Draco replied, cocking an eyebrow challengingly.

"Well… I didn't mean to. I'm sorry."

"How noble of you."

"If you like me as much as you say you do, why do you feel the need to be so spiteful? I never asked you to like me."

Draco looked at him again, large metallic eyes almost burning through him. Harry pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his Quidditch robes around himself to try and avert the icy stare. "Potter, you haven't the faintest idea how much I _despise_ you. And the reason I despise you is because, due to an unfortunate weakness, I am in love with you. I hate the fact, I hate myself for not being able to change it and I hate you for making me feel it. It's one very vicious, very tiresome circle."

"But I don't 'make' you feel it – it's not my fault!" Harry protested, not at all glad at the resurrection of the subject, "I'm sick of being blamed for all this, Malfoy – it's as if you can't take responsibility for stuff so you lay it all on me – especially _this_." Malfoy's infatuation intimidated him and he was most discontent to discuss it further; especially if Malfoy was going to claim Harry had somehow inadvertently encouraged him!

"I don't remember saying there was any logic in it," the Slytherin pointed out coolly, "Sometimes things just _are_ and the only option you have is to work with them or around them; this is one of those things. And I can assure you I gain no pleasure from it whatsoever."

Harry felt a small pang in his stomach at that. He had no idea why, but he was slightly insulted by the fact that Malfoy's crush on him was such displeasure. Suddenly he _did_ want to know – he wanted some answers and if Malfoy wanted his help then he'd just have to give them. Clearing his throat, Harry posed his first question. "When did you know?"

Grey eyes looked at him sidelong, "Know what?"

"That you were 'in love' with me?"

"There's no need to be quite so condescending, Potter…" the other boy replied, still sounding very cold. He paused before answering; "Third year – towards the end – when I heard the story about Black breaking into the Tower and scaring the life out of Weasley with a machete in the middle of the night."

"It wasn't a machete – just a knife, …" Harry corrected without thinking.

"The story I heard told it as a _machete_, which is why I said it. Anyway, I heard that story and I was sick. It could have been you. It _should_ _have_ _been_ you. We all thought he was after you, didn't we? Trying to kill you… He'd come so close that I realised how fragile mortality is, how easily he could have killed you in your sleep. Some how it was never so frightening when you faced Voldemort because I knew you'd done it all before, I had confidence in you. When it came to Black it was a completely different matter, and I was utterly paranoid on your behalf. To be that concerned for you I realised there was something very wrong with me. It turned out to be that."

Harry thought back to the terror of his third year – of the Dementors and the sound of his mother's screams whenever they came close, of wanting to kill Sirius and believing that Remus was helping him try to murder him – he closed his eyes and shook the memories from his head. That was in the past, now; he knew the truth about both Sirius and Remus: they only wanted to protect him. _Protect me the same as Draco does…_ The thought felt almost like a slap to Harry. It hit home with such velocity that he almost felt stunned for a moment. The enormity of what he was being told and what Draco was actually doing began to filter through. Suddenly, Harry felt very humble indeed.

"Well – thank you for caring, even if it's horrible. _Especially_ as it's horrible…" he managed, sure beyond any shadow of doubt that his face matched perfectly with his clothes.

"I didn't have a choice. But… maybe I exaggerated very slightly on how awful it is," the other boy conceded with a dignified shrug, "Not to say I enjoy it at all."

"No, of course," Harry nodded empathetically, feeling like an idiot.

"So, when did you realise you were wearing the wrong robes?" Draco asked, reaching into his pocket to pull out his cigarettes. He moved to offer Harry one as an after thought, but found him gazing down at his Quidditch gear in bemusement.

"The sorting hat wanted to put me in Slytherin…" he admitted vaguely, "But I asked it not to."

"And what has that got to do with anything?" Draco asked, rattling the box of cigarettes under his nose to draw his awareness to them, "Although it's a rather interesting piece of information…"

"Oh – um, no – thank you. I don't, er…_smoke_."

"I don't suppose you drink either, do you?" the blonde boy said with a slightly derisive laugh.

"No. It's not really something I'm bothered about," Harry told him, "So – what did you mean about the robes? I mean, you weren't talking about Quidditch, apparently.…" 

"For God's sake!" Draco exclaimed in exasperation, looking rather like he wanted to bang his head against a brick wall, "How can you be so _innocent_ at your age?"

"I'm not 'innocent'!"

"Well, you can't tell a euphemism when one's thrown at you, can you?"

"What euphemism?" Harry demanded, realising as he said it exactly what the Slytherin meant. "Oh! Oh – that, right, sorry…"

Draco said nothing, but his self-satisfied smirk was fully expressive enough.

"I don't think it was something I ever really realised… I just developed crushes on boys, but _well_ – I thought I had a crush on a girl, once…"

"Really? Who? Not Granger?! I always _thought_ you liked _her,_!" Malfoy said with distaste. 

"No, not Hermione – it doesn't matter, now.…"

The blonde boy narrowed his eyes and barked: "I _want_ to know."

Harry was momentarily taken aback by his abruptness, but quickly regained his equanimity and firmly stated: "It's none of your business."

"I'm making it my business. Who-was-she?" The other boy was fixing him with a determined glare and the silvery eyes had begun to flash unnervingly once more. Harry had a distinct feeling he should make life easier for himself and just say, because Malfoy didn't seem about to give in. 

"Cho…" he muttered reluctantly, under his breath.

"Bless you." 

"I said _Cho. _Cho Chang!"

"Cho _Chang_?!" he echoed in disgust, "I thought you said that, but I didn't want to believe it. _Cho Chang_!"

"What? She's very pretty, even if I don't feel… y'know – _like that_ about her."

"She's a _Ravenclaw_.!" 

"So?"

Malfoy made a noise that suggested he feared he might throw up.

"You're a really stuck-up little git, did you know that?" Harry told him irritably.

"No, it's just that I have _standards_!." 

"And what's wrong with Ravenclaws?"

"They're only a few million brain cells removed from Hufflepuffs.! They're dull, they can't hold an interesting conversation because the only thing they think about is schoolwork, they're irritating beyond comprehension, they are appallingly predictable sportsmen because they virtually play by numbers…"

"At least they don't _cheat_!" Harry retorted.

"True, but they don't _win_ either, do they?"

"They beat Hufflepuff on a fairly regular basis…"

"You say it as if that's some kind of achievement!" 

"_Well_," Harry muttered finally, "Cho's a good flier. I thought I liked her; I'm so very sorry if that offends you."

"I fly better than her, but it doesn't mean you like me, does it?" Draco scowled.

"No, it doesn't, but it might have done if you hadn't been such an utter git all your life.…" 

Draco glowered at him, then folded his arms and said: "And I see we've returned to where we started. So, apart from this ridiculous episode with Cho Chang, when did the proverbial knut drop?"

"It's 'penny', Malfoy.…"

"Well, maybe if you've been raised by _Muggles._"

Harry sighed and decided not to argue. "Well, I've had crushes, as I said, but I think I really realised there was something odd about me when I didn't get like Ron over Fleur Delacour."

"The vVeela girl from Beauxbatons?"

"Yep."

"She was _beautiful_,… if somewhat dim."

"Well, I don't go for blondes.…" Harry shrugged, pulling at a loose thread on the bottom of his jumper. The silence from the other boy brought his eyes back up from his hands and he looked at him curiously. His pale skin had taken on a slightly green hue and a small point in his jaw was pulsing oddly. "What's the matter?"

"Where are the bathrooms in this place?" he asked, looking away from Harry.

"Well – the bathrooms are at the top and bottom of the tower, but there are toilets on each floor… Are you going to be sick?"

"No, I'd like to inspect the House Elves' handiwork,…" he snapped sarcastically, breathing irregularly and swallowing a few times. 

"Oh, right.… Well, it's three steps up on the left – you can't miss it."

He stood up and made to step away from the bed, but staggered and only barely managed to remain on his feet by grasping at the curtains of the bed. Harry leapt up and moved to steady him but found himself roughly shrugged off. "I told you not to touch me!"

"I was just trying to help – you'll never make it in there on your own! Come on, let me help you." Harry insisted, holding out his hands in case the other boys should stumble again.

"No." He made a defiant attempt at moving further and managed to retain his balance. Harry followed him closely, not wanting the obstinate fool to break his neck falling down five flights of stairs. He followed him right up to the cubicle and waited slightly to one side, grimacing at the wretching noises.

"You alright?" he asked during a pause. He pushed open the door slowly and found the blonde boy kneeling on the floor, one elbow on the bowl, his forehead rested on his hand. He looked dreadful.

"Yes, I'm fine," he mumbled and promptly wretched again. Harry moved into the cubicle and crouched behind him, reaching round to hold his hair out of his face and rubbing his back with the other, but ensuring he was looking very much in the opposite direction. The other boy was apparently too unwell to bother protesting by now.

"Well," Harry said optimistically, "It's probably better to get it out of your system I suppose.…" 

Draco made an odd hiss and groaned "Piss off, Potter."

Once Draco had finished bringing up seemingly everything he had ever eaten since he was weaned, Harry helped him back to the dorm and gave him a drink from the ever-full jug on the table. "Think yourself lucky – I didn't do that for Ron when he cursed himself full of slugs,…" Harry told him, trying to cheer him up. The other boy gave him a dark look and muttered that he was honoured. "I think you ought to go to the hospital wing, you know," he went on with a slightly smile, "You can just say that you've been chucking up and not say why – she doesn't have to know what you did."

"Pomfrey? Not know? Pull the other one, Potter, it has bells on."

"Just lie and deny everything – you're good at that." 

"Oh shut up."

Harry decided not to sit beside the other boy, but perched on the edge of Ron's bed again. "Tomorrow morning, don't go to breakfast, meet me in the entrance hall at half past seven and I'll take you to talk to Sirius and Remus – they'll know best and they'll probably bring Dumbledore down, too…" The look on the other boy's face spoke volumes. He didn't want them involved. "Draco-" Harry said as reasonably and pacifyingly as he could, "You just have to believe me on this, I know what I'm doing, alright? You want my help and I'll give it to you, but you have to do things my way; and my way involves them." 

The Slytherin took a deep breath and insisted: "The moment they start judging me I'm leaving." 

"Fine. That's fine – just be there, alright? I think you should be at least going to bed if you're not going to the hospital wing, though, and Ron and Hermione can't keep the others out of the dorm forever.…"

"No, I expect not."

Harry got up and moved to his trunk, pulling out the garment that had been of such great assistance to him since his first year. "You'll have to use this,…" he said, holding it out to Draco. He looked at it for a moment before reaching out a hand and touching the material with an almost reverential expression on his face.

"An invisibility cloak? You've got an _invisibility cloak_?"

"It was Ddad's," Harry explained, pride welling inside him.

"So all this time, when I've been wandering around the school at night trying to find out where you were you had _that_? It's hardly surprising I never found you, is it?"

"If I'd known you were looking I would have read up on concealment spells, too," Harry teased, grinning, then, as an after thought, asked: "Hang on – why would you be trying to find me in the middle of the night?"

"Why not? It at least gave me something to do when I couldn't sleep,…" he shrugged, standing up and draping it around his shoulders. Harry nodded; it seemed a fair enough excuse.

"Right, we'll go. I'll take you through the common room and out of the portrait hole, then we'll find somewhere that you can take that off and we can go our separate ways, alright?" The other boy nodded, then turned to throw his things back into the bag he had brought. Together, they then made their way down the spiral staircase, Harry holding onto him to ensure they stayed together.

He let go at the door and hissed: "Stay by me, okay?"

The pair of them stepped into the room and immediately Harry was accosted by half the year. Seamus, Dean and Neville made their way up to the dorm giving him playful shoves as they went past and could finally get changed out of their outdoor robes. Ron and Hermione approached him, too, and quietly asked if everything was alright. He nodded reassuringly and whispered that he would explain later, but that he had to get down to the changing rooms and would be back shortly. Both Ron and Hermione nodded in understanding and Harry and Draco made for the portrait hole, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible. Inconspicuous, that is, except for Draco, who seemed to find it impossible to resist knocking over Parvati's king and shove Lee Jordan's head as he passed, so that he spilled the drink he was sipping down his front. "You're a complete _git_, do you realise that?" Harry frowned as the portrait closed behind them.

"You do keep reminding me, yes. But you'd be disappointed if I wasn't." To Harry's surprise, he found that it was almost true. A 'nice' Draco wouldn't be nearly as entertaining (Lee's face had been quite funny, after all).

Together they made their way down the corridor and hid in an alcove while Draco slipped off the cloak. "So, tomorrow morning, then…" Harry said with an encouraging smile.

Draco nodded. "Half past seven." He handed over the cloak and stepped out into the corridor, but hesitated and turned back to look at Harry. "One last thing, Potter…" he said quietly, reaching out a hand as if to squeeze his shoulder, but never actually making contact, "Thank you." He turned again and strode away. Harry smiled at his retreating form and made to say that it was nothing, but within a moment the other boy had disappeared behind a tapestry and was gone.


	4. Chapter IV This Cult of Positivity

****

Chapter ~ IV

This Cult of Positivity

__

"Hope lies in the proles." George Orwell

Harry had a real struggle with sleep that night. He'd spent hours with Ron and Hermione, explaining everything Draco had told him, quelling Ron's conspiracy theories with vehement descriptions of the state the other boy had got himself into and how it couldn't have been faked. Hermione, being her ever practical self, had seemed more concerned with what Draco had taken and their potential effects. Although she had teased him slightly at the time, it seemed that when she had thought about it, the feminine pills may have contained things that were harmful in large quantities - especially when mixed with alcohol - and was all for going to tell their teachers everything. Harry had refused to let her, reminding her that Draco had probably flushed most of them out of his system when he was sick, which pacified her slightly but didn't seem to make her any more comfortable. Ron still seemed a little dubious and as though he was actually quite annoyed with himself for being so anxious about Draco's well being. That was the thing about Ron, he had a terrible habit of trying to be something he wasn't.

When Harry finally escaped his friends' questioning and gone to bed, he lay awake for hours, staring at his canopy and pondering the other things he had been told. He had kept the part about Draco's 'feelings' for him very much a secret. He didn't have the heart to give Ron the ammunition he knew he would love to get his hands on to pay Draco back for the years of taunting. He couldn't blame Ron for it, but after witnessing the way Draco had spoken about his mother, and hearing his conviction that he would finish himself off if it became necessary, Harry simply didn't feel that he could take a further push without falling over the edge. The way things stood at the moment, it was a long drop that would cause serious damage. And that would help no one. 

It was deeply flattering, when he thought about it, that he meant enough to someone that they would give up so much to look out for him. It gave him warm shivers and brought an involuntary smile to his face when he dwelt upon it; but he simply could not escape the fact that the person was Malfoy. Draco Malfoy - the spiteful, vindictive, smarmy little brat that Harry and the others had spent years loathing. _Blindly, without actually bothering to find out why he was so hostile towards you, remember?_ But no matter how many times he reminded himself that really Draco didn't seem so bad anymore – and that, after all, he now knew his motives – he simply couldn't be appeased by the fact. He would think about the peculiar feeling it gave him deep in his stomach – almost like the nervous feeling he had had before the Tri-Wizard events, but much, much nicer, then he would scold himself for trying to justify it, annoyed that he was quailing to what he considered to be the other boy's whims. And besides, he really wasn't Harry's type at all, so it didn't even matter, because he wasn't attracted to him. He wasn't. He thought Draco was kind of pretty in a girlish sort of way, but he wasn't attracted to him physically any more than he thought the Slytherin was worthy of the Nobel Peace Prize.

Harry had spent a considerable amount of time deciding what his 'type' actually was, realising that he'd never actually considered the matter in detail until now. He had concluded, after much deliberation, that his type certainly consisted of Quidditch players - which Draco was indeed - but that he seemed to like the darker ones; the bright, amicable ones who you could hold a comfortable conversation with and who didn't think they were better than anyone else. He liked people like Simon Wood, Oliver's younger cousin, who was a Ravenclaw Chaser, and Gavin Cross, too, now he thought about it, the same House's captain. In the past he'd had a fleeting 'thing' for Roger Davies at the same time as The Cho Episode, but that had been quashed rather sharply when he saw whom Roger took to the Yule ball the previous year. Harry obviously didn't have a chance and gave up while he was ahead. But the thing that linked all those boys was that they were pleasant, intelligent, friendly and warm - easily likeable and not prone to conflict (and, oddly, all Ravenclaws). If there was a side of Draco Malfoy that fitted that description, Harry was yet to see it.

Harry did feel quite guilty about the way things stood. He couldn't force himself to like anyone, but if Draco really did feel the way he claimed to it must be absolutely horrible for him to know that Harry couldn't stand him. Well, for all that, Harry was growing more able to stand him as he considered the matter, but he was still entirely opposed to any prospective… _thing_ with him. It seemed such a terrible waste of feelings when Draco obviously had something to offer, and Harry would have been deeply grateful of it – if only it had come from someone else. But it couldn't be helped. The most Harry could offer him was friendship.

By four o'clock in the morning he had been through everything full circle innumerable times, and gone through everyone close to him, trying to decide whom to talk to about it. He came to the conclusion that the only person he could seriously consider talking to was Remus, and quickly decided that he would wait until things became suitably complicated before he did. He couldn't just run up to him and say "Help! Malfoy thinks he's in love with me!" because the poor man would probably have a heart attack. Which, at least, was better than Sirius, who would probably laugh until he passed out. He decided, as he rolled over and pummelled his pillow into a more comfortable position, that this was one storm he was going to have to weather on his own. Sirius and Remus would have enough to deal with when they heard the news of Voldemort.

Harry arrived in the Entrance Hall a quarter of an hour earlier than he had agreed to meet Draco, feeling incredibly grouchy and sincerely debating the wisdom of trusting Slytherins. _Oh, fantastic. I'm here quarter of an hour early and I'd bet my Firebolt the git doesn't turn up, so I'll be standing here like a prat for nothing, miss breakfast and then have not only Ron and Herm on at me for trusting him, but his stupid, smirking little face all through Potions, too. Great. So much for not being such a push-over any more._

To his immense surprise, however, the Slytherin was not late but actually precisely on time and wearing an expression of quiet determination. "Let's get outside before anyone sees me talking to you," he hissed, striding straight past Harry and towards the large front doors. For a moment Harry stared at his departing form in indignation. _'Morning, Draco', 'Good morning, Harry. Did you sleep well?' 'No, you stroppy git, I spent half of it awake worrying about _you, _but don't mind me, I'm_ happy _to help!'. _He had to jog to keep up with the other boy's purposeful strides as they headed for the cottage surrounded by its low wooden fence, not too far from Hagrid's hut. Hagrid himself hadn't arrived back at the school until the day before the start of term, having been on "A top secret mission fer Dumbledore" (which he always seemed to need to tap the side of his nose when he spoke of) and Harry made a mental note that he must go and visit at some point. 

Draco stopped abruptly when he reached the boundary of the cottage garden and almost appeared to be steeling himself to go in. Harry, having finally caught up, moved to open the gate, but decided to issue him with a warning first, just in case. "Listen, Draco, this is really important – whatever you think of Sirius and Remus, be polite to them. _Please_. If you start being stroppy Sirius will be, too, and neither me or Remus can face that first thing in the morning, okay?"

Draco scowled and gave what could almost have been described as a pout, "I do not 'strop'."

"Alright, whatever you say – just don't make today a first then, okay?" Harry cautioned, turning to open the gate and mentally crossing his fingers. He strode up to the low, black-painted front door and led the blonde boy straight into the living room. The sound of a kettle whistling could be heard from the kitchen and Harry headed through to the large, flagstoned room where all meals at the cottage were taken.

Remus was standing by the sink making a cup of tea when they entered and he bid Harry good morning just as Harry opened his mouth to do the same. Remus had an unnerving habit of knowing when someone was behind him or about to knock at the door – and usually knew whom it was pre-emptively. Harry assumed it was something to do with his lycanthropy, but it wasn't a matter that was easily discussed at the cottage. 

"Good morning, Harry," Remus said cheerfully, picking up his tea and toast and turning to place them on the table; apparently he hadn't also been aware of the second boy standing in his kitchen, or if he had he wasn't expecting it to be Draco Malfoy. He faltered, glancing from Harry to Draco and carefully placing his breakfast on the wooden tabletop, "Well, what brings you both here at this time of the morning?" he asked with a smile that was evidently intended to hide his surprise, "Have you eaten? I can make you breakfast, if you like…?"

"Um… Draco?" Harry asked, turning to the other boy, who was looking around the kitchen with a vague look of bemusement. He looked back at Harry and gave an obviously forced gracious smile.

"No, thank you," he said, in a tone that implied he had silently continued: 'I'd rather be smeared with cat food and dropped naked into a tank of piranhas with nothing to protect my modesty but a smoked ham.' 

"Moony, I've brought Draco here because we've got something we need to tell you," Harry began, sitting down opposite him and shoving a chair towards the other boy to encourage him to sit down, too. Remus's butter knife clattered onto his plate at Harry's words and he looked at him with wide, amber-green eyes. He quickly cleared his throat and returned his attention to the toast.

"Really?" he asked, as nonchalantly as he could, "What sort of 'something' would that be?" 

Harry opened his mouth to answer, but at the same moment there was a thud, an infuriated yelp, an imaginative string of expletives and Sirius appeared, half dressed and towel-drying his hair. He still hadn't got used to the low doors in the cottage and, being considerably taller than both Harry and Remus, regularly managed to thwack his head on the doorframes. He'd stood no chance with a towel over his face.

"Sirius-" Remus said loudly, as he continued to mutter, still towelling his hair roughly, "_Sirius_."

"WHAT?" Sirius demanded, yanking the towel from his face and glowering darkly at the other man; Sirius was not a morning person. When he caught sight of the two boys sitting at the table his mouth fell open in astonishment and he looked to Harry before demanding, quite incredulously: "Why is there a Malfoy in my kitchen at twenty to eight in the morning?"

"Draco's here because there's something you need to know…" Harry began, only to stop and watch impatiently as Sirius gave Remus a confused look and silently mouthed '_Draco?_' at him. _Oh no, here we go…_

Remus gave the other man a timorous look and told him carefully that Harry had brought the boy and that Sirius should listen carefully and not judge at all while the boys explained because they were young once, too (but ignoring the small matter of whose kitchen it actually was). All three of the others in the kitchen fixed him with puzzled stares. Harry suddenly turned pink as he twigged what Remus thought they were there to tell them. He looked at the man and shook his head almost imperceptibly when he managed to catch his eye. He was given a tiny confused frown in return, followed by a small sigh of relief.

"Voldemort's planning an attack," Harry explained, "and he's going to use some of his supporters' children to make himself immortal."

"He's _what_?" Sirius demanded, pulling out a chair and slumping down beside Harry, looking to Remus for confirmation.

"He's going to sap the Life out of..?" Harry glanced at Draco, who sighed and muttered:

"Seven."

"-Seven boys and he's going to feed off them to make himself stronger."

"How?" Remus asked, gazing intently at him.

"We don't know exactly, Draco told me what he knows last night – he's on our side. He doesn't want Voldemort to have our Life, do you Draco?"

"It's not high on my Yule list, no."

"He's afraid of what's going to happen-" Draco shot him an extremely displeased look, "-it was planned for him before he was born and that means he'll be one of the first now. And Voldemort's planning on taking my Life, too."

Remus looked at Sirius, who stared back at him unflinchingly for a few moments, then nodded slowly, as if in agreement. "We knew it," Remus said resignedly, "we knew he had something like this planned."

Sirius nodded, before turning his eyes to Draco. "How do you know what he's planning?"

"His father told him," Harry explained, "he thinks it's something Draco should be proud of."

"Harry, let him answer his own questions for a minute," Sirius told him, raising a hand to stop him talking. "Malfoy, how much do you know?"

Draco stared up at him reticently, "As much as I've told Harry."

The look that passed between them made Harry and Remus glance at each other uneasily and Remus quickly cleared his throat to break the tension. "Alright, Draco, so would you tell us, too?"

"Will it help?"

"Yes, Draco, that's why we're asking."

Harry nudged him with his elbow. "Come on, Drac, I told you that if you want help you have to do this-"

"Your way. Yes, I do remember."

"Well try acting like it, then."

"Try remembering my name ends in an 'o'."

"Sorry – _Malfo_," Harry smirked back, enjoying having the upper-hand for a change.

"Do _not_ set out to annoy me first thing in the morning, Potter, it makes for one very bad-tempered Slytherin."

"You're always a bad-tempered Slytherin!"

Draco gave him a disgruntled look and folded his arms. Sirius muttered something to himself and stood up, heading towards the living room.

"Where are you going?" Remus called after him.

"To get Dumbledore. I'm not in the mood for bolshie kids at this time in the morning." A moment later there was a loud '_Whoomph'_ as Sirius lit a fire in the grate. They clearly heard him speaking to Dumbledore with careful respect and then to someone else, with irreverent contempt. It may have been the way he referred to the other person as "You rhinoplastic nightmare" or the tone in which he suggested he flap his "little Batfink wings down here now", but none of those who remained in the kitchen were remotely surprised when he declared: "I've asked your House Master to come down, too, Malfoy."

When Dumbledore and Snape appeared a few minutes later Draco explained everything (with several wisely chosen omissions and some help from Harry) and the professors listened intently. Snape paced before the window, blocking out the light, and Dumbledore sat beside Draco, studying him carefully. The young Slytherin relayed the situation to them in a clear, concise voice, wasting no time on trivialities or how he felt about the situation, saying only "I hate him and I want nothing to do with him" on that matter.

"This is quite understandable," Dumbledore agreed seriously, "and I must express my admiration for you in both your honesty and your bravery." Draco gazed at him in loosely veiled disbelief (and, Harry couldn't help feeling, slight indignation at the implication of Gryffindor tendencies). "However, I must ask you to carry on as you would had none of this come to light. You will continue your everyday life as normal, and, for obvious reasons, you will avoid disclosing your connections with Harry. It would, I am sure you understand, raise very many eyebrows for your well documented feud to be suddenly resolved."

Draco stared at the headmaster with shuttered silver eyes. "You want me to pretend to like my father and hate Harry?"

"Fundamentally, yes," Dumbledore explained, "although 'hate' may prove a little strong a term. I feel it would be unwise to tilt the carpet before we understand the situation to the fullest extent."

Harry saw – and understood – the look of near indifference on the other boy's face. It was far from what it implied; part fear, part anger and part disappointment. Harry wondered when he had suddenly become fluent in Draco's body language and forcibly shoved all answers into a dark recess of his mind for later contemplation. Clearly, Draco had hoped that he and Harry would be encouraged to spend time together now that the truth (in part) was out. Harry suspected, however, that if the rest of what Draco had revealed were made known to the adults they'd never even allow him in the same room as Harry.

Dumbledore raised himself and made for the door, "If the situation changes, Draco, we will re-evaluate the arrangements. For the time being, please comply with our wishes. Severus, Sirius, I believe we have a staff meeting to arrange…"

For the merest moment, Draco appeared to be battling some inner conflict, then he announced: "There's something else you should know."

Sirius and Remus exchanged interested looks and Snape paused in his pacing. Harry gawked at him. Surely he wasn't going to tell them, all? Not _that_!

"What is it, Draco?" Dumbledore asked softly.

What happened next caused Harry to let out a cry of shock and Sirius to utter a sharp "_Fuck_". 

"This," Draco said simply, then raised his right hand with a small flourish. Instantaneously and inexplicably it had erupted into flames. Not the blue, purple or green of magical fire, but the plain orange glow of true inferno. Even Dumbledore seemed alarmed, because it took him a moment to speak. 

"You are pyroclastic."

"It's partly why I'm so important to them. They believe the power will be passed on to him."

"What's going on?" Harry demanded in dark astonishment as Draco lowered his hand and the flames were extinguished, leaving his pale skin entirely untouched. "Why didn't you tell me this last night?"

"It was irrelevant."

"I'd say the fact you spontaneously combust _is_ quite relevant, personally!"

"Well, you know now, don't you?" Draco replied haughtily.

"That's not the point!"

"Boys…" Dumbledore said quietly to quell their arguing. "Draco, how long ago did you discover your gift?"

"I don't know. I was small… I set light to my cot while I was in it," he explained, shrugging indifferently.

"Do you know how many people are aware of it?"

"My parents, the house elves at the Manor… yourselves. Very few."

"That is good news," Dumbledore nodded, thoughtfully. "Are you trained?"

"No, my father didn't see the point."

Dumbledore gave a small frown and declared: "Then you must be. I will arrange for lessons to begin as soon as is feasible. Pyroclasty is not a matter to be taken lightly, nor ignored. It mystifies me that in all your years at the school it has never come to my attention."

"I didn't advertise the fact," Draco told him touchily, "I was told not to. I am, I would like you to understand, very much in control of the situation. I can assure you that if it had been down to me I would have found it a great source of entertainment."

"You'd probably have had my Firebolt up in flames long before now, wouldn't you?" Harry muttered, still slightly offended that Draco hadn't told him straight away.

"It would have been more that just your Firebolt," Draco said with a smirk, thankfully missing the expression on Sirius' face and the pacifying hand Remus laid on his arm.

Dumbledore gave a small sigh and looked at him gravely. "You must appreciate, Draco, that your gift is a double-edged sword and without the relevant training you pose a great threat to yourself and others. You are, it is beyond refute, a very powerful young man and the consequences should you lose control would be catastrophic." Draco gazed back at him, but his usual defiance was barely traceable. "I will make arrangements immediately." He turned to leave the cottage, glancing at Snape as he did so. "Severus?"

Snape nodded for Draco to follow him and he left with the slightest glance in Harry's direction and nothing more. The three of them quickly departed while Sirius grabbed his over-robes and followed close behind.

"Harry?" Remus called, leaning against the door as he watched the others stride up the stone steps of the castle. Harry had straggled behind, pondering what had been said. He turned and called back:

"Yeah?"

"You know the drill – anything happens, you tell us, alright?"

"Yep."

"And Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"Make sure you get around to telling Sirius about… well, you know what I mean."

Harry knew, alright. Ever since he'd told Remus about coming out to Ron and Hermione he'd been dropping hints that he should tell Sirius. It wasn't that Harry thought Sirius would react badly, Moony had been making subtle insinuations that Harry didn't even want to consider with regard to his godfather, but it was just about finding the right time. With Remus the issue had been raised by the situation; forcing the situation in order to raise the issue was going to be considerably more complicated. Harry sighed and promised: "I'll try…"_Eventually._

Harry walked into the Hall and sat down at the Gryffindor table, opposite Ron and Hermione (who had sat next to each other at practically every meal since they'd been back at school) and began to load his plate with large quantities of everything.

"Well?" Hermione asked, raising her eyebrows to a ridiculous degree, "How did it go?"

Harry reluctantly put down his fork, cleared his throat and beckoned Ron and Hermione toward him. Glancing around, they leaned in slightly, eager to hear whatever he was planning to say before the table was too crowded not to be over heard. Harry glanced over his shoulder at the Slytherin table and frowned as he noticed Draco wasn't there yet.

"Well?" Hermione urged, looking down towards the doors as a group of second years walked in and headed for the far end of the table.

"I don't know how to explain it – it was really weird – I mean, I just never realised it was possible," he began.

"What?"

"Well – he just raised his hand like _that_-" Harry clumsily imitated the gesture Draco had made at the cottage, "- well, something like that – and his whole hand just burst into _flames_! It was amazing!" Hermione stared at him, a puzzled look on her face, as though she wanted to say something, but wasn't sure if she should. "It's supposed to be a gift of some sort. Dumbledore's going to have him taught to use it properly."

Ron looked something like a surprised haddock for a moment before whispering, "Malfoy can do wandless magic?"

"Well, I didn't think of it like that, but I suppose so… It scared me half to death, whatever it is…" Harry shrugged.

"You've got a book on the subject, Harry!" Hermione cried in exasperation. "If I'd have found out something like that I'd have checked the book immediately!"

Ron tutted and rolled his eyes, "And we never expected that or anything…"

"I haven't had time! It only happened ten minutes ago! Can I at least have breakfast, first?"

"Well, '_Mione_ would've had the whole book memorised by the time she got it home, wouldn't you, Hermione?" Ron reminded him, patting her shoulder.

"Well, at least I'd already know what it means!" Hermione said, flicking her hair over her shoulder and folding her arms, just as Neville sat down beside her and began to enthuse about the Isis Vines they'd been working on in Herbology.

"You'd better eat that quick, you know – we have class detention today, remember."

"How could we forget?" Ron groaned, "Snape's a miserable old sadist. He hasn't got a heart, you know. He can't have. No one gives class detentions at half nine on a Saturday!"

"Well, if you and Goyle hadn't started the whole thing none of us would have detention!" Hermione replied indignantly. "I could be studying, but no, we all have to take the lesson again because you couldn't keep your hands to yourself."

"Don't you blame _me_, Hermione! I only did it because-"

"_Because_ you let the great idiot annoy you so much. Really, Ron, you're going to have to learn to grow up or you'll spend most of this year in detention and you really can't afford to. It's only a matter of months until the exams and unless you plan to work miracles in all of them you'll only just scrape passes and then –"

"Hermione?"

"What?"

"Shut up. The day's depressing enough already."

~*~

Potions detention was not entirely comfortable for Draco. He was feeling decidedly cheated by Dumbledore's decision and hadn't slept particularly well thanks to a relentless stomach ache. First thing in the morning he had rushed to the bathrooms to throw up again and Blaise Zabini had suggested he was pregnant. Zabini had paid for his smart-arse comment with a collection of boils on an aptly chosen part of his anatomy, and now Draco was having to listen to him whinge about them as they prepared a Befuddlement Draft for the second time in three days. 

Draco hacked at his holly root purposefully, attempting to block out the other boy's snivelling and trying to decide what to do about the ban that had been placed on any attempt to build bridges with Potter. He could, of course, flagrantly ignore the Headmaster's stipulations, but at the moment the last thing he needed was to get on the wrong side of the old codger. Besides, Snape would be watching his every move, now. He was fully aware that he'd be on the receiving end of a House loyalty lecture after class, which really wasn't promoting any sense of joy. And he felt sick.

He was brought out of his consuming self-pity by a commotion across the room. The potions master was leaning heavily on Potter and the Weasel's table, his face little more that three inches away from the bespectacled boy's, and he was hissing something about Harry being a superior little runt and that while everyone else could hold him in as much reverence as they chose, he, Severus Snape, could see him for the smug little deviant that he was. _Oh for God's sake, Snape, change the record, will you?_ Draco thought, scowling and lashing into his roots with even more fervour. He scooped up the virtually pulped ingredient and tossed it apathetically into his cauldron. It hissed and turned dark greyish-purple, bubbling languidly like boggy mud. _Ugh. He can think again if he believes I'll be drinking _that_!_

The thought of putting the disgusting-looking muck anywhere near his mouth made his stomach clench and without virtually any warning, Draco knew that he was going to throw up. Blaise looked at his greening face and took a step back. "Sir!"

Snape looked across from where he was still belittling Harry and demanded, "What is it, boy? Can't you see I'm busy?"

"I think Draco's going to be…"

Too late. Draco, in a brief moment of conscious thought as he turned to flee the room and realised it was too late for escape, bowed over Pansy's cauldron to avoid coating the floor and threw up.

Behind them a chorus of "Euuurgh!" spread throughout the class and Pansy wailed that she felt ill, now, too. Draco sat down heavily on his stool and rested his head on his hands as Snape stepped up to him. He peered at the cauldron, whose contents had now turned violently lime green with blue streaks, and then at Draco. "Mr. Malfoy, may I ask if you have been chewing a certain violent article of flora in the school grounds, recently?"

"No, I haven't, sir."

"Then perhaps one of its less ferocious relatives, beside the lake?"

"No, sir, not to my knowledge."

"Then I would have to ask why you may have consumed a large quantity of its extract?"

"I haven't, sir."

"Really? Well, the only other conclusion I can draw is that you may have consumed an inordinate quantity of a Muggle drug known as aspirin. Would that happen to ring any bells, at all?"

Draco cast a surreptitious glance at Harry before making to answer, only to realise that his foot felt wet. He looked down to find that the cauldron was leaking all over the floor. Only, it wasn't just leaking, it was _melting_. 

Pansy suddenly began to squeal again. "Oh no! Sir! Sir, my cauldron's melting!"

Snape looked down at the disintegrating instrument and gave a tiny skip out of the way of the approaching puddle. "Class, outside the room immediately. Remain in the corridor, _in_ _silence_. Move!"

The class raised from their desks and grabbed their bags, looking at the spreading green mess with morbid curiosity. "Not you, Potter," the professor said triumphantly, grabbing him by the back of his robes as he passed, "You can remain here and clean this mess up, while I take Mr. Malfoy to the hospital wing. No magic – we wouldn't want your ineptitude further worsening matters, would we?"

Harry stared back at him, aghast, then at Draco, then the puddle, then back at Snape, but he didn't argue. He slammed his bag down on the nearest table and turned towards the broom cupboard at the back of the room with a loud huff. "Ten points from Gryffindor for surliness. Mr. Malfoy – the hospital wing, if you please."

The rest of the day didn't go quite as Harry would have liked, either. By lunchtime he'd managed to spill his ink all over his Potions notes, earning himself _another_ ten points from Gryffindor (he suspected that Snape was rather miffed that his prize pupil had turned to Harry and not him for help); on the way to the Quidditch pitch he'd tripped down the front steps, causing a gaggle of Hufflepuff girls to fall about giggling hysterically and then, on his way back up to the Tower from the library his bag split – on a moving staircase. He could almost have wept with frustration as _The Roots of Herblore_ and _Most Vile Vials_ plunged down towards the ground floor.

"HEADS!" he called, in an attempt to warn any unsuspecting victim on the floors below, and smacked himself in the forehead with his palm.

"What's the matter with you, today?" Ron asked, as he leaned precariously over the unguarded end of the staircase and peered down, "You've been right bloody clumsy."

"Oh I dunno, I'm just distracted, I suppose… But _I_ wasn't the one who chucked up in my cauldron, was I? I just had to clear it up thanks to that stupid miserable git!" Harry huffed, running a hand through his hair irritably, "You go on up, I'll go and get those."

"Can't you just summon 'em?" Ron suggested as the staircase reached the upper landing.

"And risk Filch catching me doing magic in the corridor?" Harry sighed, "I'm having a crap enough day already, thanks."

"Alright, see you in a bit…" The red haired boy stepped off the case as Harry turned to head back down.

Four floors later, Harry swung around the banister and collided with something very solid, but pleasantly soft. Whatever it was clamped a pair of arms around him and laughed, "Hey, watch it, mate! You'll come a proper cropper, you will!" in a deep Valleys lilt. Harry backed away, blushing, and straightened his glasses. He looked up into a pair of large, dark brown eyes and realised that no, his day wasn't going to get any better. Of all the people to crash into at full pelt while covered in irremovable splatters of gunk from Potions, he had to crash into – 

"Erm, sorry, Gavin…" He made to step around the sixth year and hurry on down the stairs, but the bigger boy held out his arm to stop him.

"Wait a minute, Potter," he said, grinning, "If you're headin' down for these I saved you the bother..." He held out the text books Harry had lost.

"Oh – erm…thanks."

"Not a problem, matey," he laughed, his rosy face lighting up like a lamp, "Was just heading up this way, anyway."

"Um, right…" Harry felt his own face burn as Gavin wrapped an arm around his shoulders and began to lead him back up the stairs.

"You know, I' been meaning t' catch you," he began hesitantly.

"H-have you?" _Oh my God, Oh my GOD!_

"Yeah. See, it's about Quidditch, mainly," he explained, tucking a lock of hair behind his ear, "You see, I were out in the grounds, and I couldn'elp noticin' that your practisin' 's goin' pretty well an' I were just wonderin' – an' I know it's really cheeky an' ev'rythin' – but could you gimme a few pointers, like? On breakin' in the new kids?"

Harry stared at him open-mouthed for a moment. _Gavin Cross – GAVIN CROSS! – is asking _me_ for help? What does he think I could possibly teach him that he doesn't already know??_ "Er… Gavin, I'd love to help, honestly, but I've got no idea what makes us work so well… and, I mean, we're only just choosing our team, it's not as if –"

"Oh I know, but I _saw you_ – you were _brilliant_!" Cross continued, "'Specially you… But then you always were good. I remember Cathbad Kibble – d'you remember 'im? – wishin' we'd got you in the Sortin'. It were no 'elp when he realised Ollie Wood'd got the best an' youngest seeker since, well… _ever_. _Please_, 'Arry, would you 'elp me just a bit? You always win the House Cup, an Slytherin always second – jus' once it'd be nice not for us t'have to console ourselves wi' beatin' 'Ufflepuff."

Harry took a moment to realise they'd stopped walking and Cross had moved so his hand was now resting on Harry's shoulder. A pair of large, hopeful eyes looked into his. _Really _nice_ chocolatey brown eyes with, sort of, really long, fluttery eyelashes that…Oh God. Harry, get a grip!_

"Um…l-look, I'll ask the rest of the team if you can sort of…c-come and um, kind of watch a practise or something, some time… but I don't think you'll really… _learn_… anything."

"Oh, H, you're brilliant!" Gavin gushed, grabbing him in a rough hug. "Look, you get this sorted an' I'll be _so_ grateful – 's Hogsmeade weekend nex' week… I don' suppose you'd lemme buy you a butterbeer in the 'Broomsticks or somethin'…? Say thank you, like?"

Harry's mouth fell open and he blinked a few times. "Um… well, _yeah_. Uhm… I'll, um…" Harry's face was burning, he could feel it. He ran a hand through his hair, just for something to do, then nervously flattened it back down again. "Um… I'd better – I'll be late for class…" He then turned and bolted down the corridor, already breathless with embarrassment. As he swung up a staircase towards the Tower he heard Gavin's voice call after him:

"But 'Arry, it's _Saturd'y_!"

Harry dashed into the common room and stopped, panting, just behind the portrait hole. Ron looked up from where he sat on one of the sofas with Hermione and frowned at him. "Blood hell, you look like you've just seen a ghost who's given you a really good present!"

Harry gave a nervous giggle.

"Harry? You alright?"

"Um… fine… s'cuse me." He rushed up the stairs and flung himself down onto his bed. His pulse was racing – he knew because the edge of his vision was bright with an odd flashing pink and he could hear the blood rushing in his head. _It's nothing. He's just really pleased that I agreed to help him. Really, _really_ pleased. And just because he asked me out, doesn't mean he asked me _'out'_, does it? He's probably straight, anyway. And… well, look at yourself, Harry! You'd make a really ugly girl…_

"Harry?"

Harry sat up to see Ron standing by his bed, fumbling with the edge of a curtain. "What's the matter?"

"Well, that's sort of what I'm here for…"

"What is?"

"We… _Hermione _said I have to come and talk to you…"

"Talk to me?" Harry blinked, "What do you mean?"

"Well, she thinks we need to have a – y'know – a _blokes'_ talk…"

Harry shifted on his bed so Ron could sit down, which he did, awkwardly (although Ron was apparently studying for an extra O.W.L. in awkwardness, lately). "We've never had a 'blokes' talk' before…" Harry said uneasily.

"I know, but she thinks we should."

"Can't argue with Hermione…"

Ron gave a nervous laugh, "No. Not if you want to keep your teeth where they started, anyway…"

"So, what do you think she meant?"

Ron grimaced, "I _know_ what she meant…"

"Do you?"

"Well… yeah. She told me what I'm supposed to talk to you about."

"Right," Harry nodded, "So, um…?"

Ron really didn't look as though he wanted to say anything_._ His ears were vivid pink and his eyes were alarmingly wide. He stumbled to get the words out, and when they finally came out it was in a barely audible rush. "Her-Hermionewantsmetofindoutifyoufancyanybodyandtellyouit'salright…" He garbled the whole thing with his eyes closed and once he'd finished he opened first one, and then the other. Before him, Harry was sitting cross-legged, biting his fingernails and concentrating far too hard on the process. He was also very deep pink around the cheeks.

Ron sucked in his bottom lip and goggled at him. "Bloody _hell_ – you do, don't you?" Harry said nothing, but the corner of his mouth twitched when he glanced at his friend. "Don't you, Harry?"

"I don't think it's really that big a deal, Ron…"

"Who is it?" the red haired boy asked in amazement.

"It's no-one, honestly."

"It's got to be _someone_, Harry!" Ron argued. "I won't laugh. Promise. As… well, as long as it's not sort of Justin Finch-Fletchley… or – or _Snape_ or someone…"

"Urgh! RON!"

"Well, I don't know what sort of… of…_person_ you like, do I?" Ron asked defensively.

Harry looked as though he might be sick, "But _Snape_! God, Ron, that's just… urgh!"

"Sounds like you're protesting a bit too much, to me!" he laughed, giving Harry a little teasing shove.

"I'm not protesting _enough_ after that!" Both boys started laughing and it took them a very long time to stop, but by the time they did the tension was completely dissolved.

"So… um… you gonna tell me, or are you gonna let Hermione choke me with my own scarf?" Ron demanded eventually.

"It's not really a _crush_…"

"But, do you fancy him – whoever he is?"

"Well… sort of, I suppose…"

"And who is he? Is it a Gryffindor?"

Harry shook his head.

"In our year?"

"Um… no."

"He's _older_?"

"A bit…"

"Blimey, Harry! You don't do things by halves, do you?" Ron gasped.

"Well, I don't suppose it matters, because he's only asked me because he needs a hand and I said I'll try and help…"

Ron looked at him in bewilderment for a moment. "What? This bloke's asked you… _what_ exactly? What sort of hand, Harry?"

Harry shrugged and played with his nails. "He's hoping I'll sort out a way for him to see one of our practises so that the Ravenclaw team will kind of get an idea how we settled down-"

"RAVENCLAW?" Ron half yelled in amazement, "It's never Gavin Cross?!"

Harry blushed even redder and looked up at his friend coyly. "Yeah… Do you think the team'll mind if he comes to watch one of our practises? We don't have to do strategy, or anything…"

Ron didn't look sure. "Well… I s'pose you'd have to ask the others – we've never done it before…"

"I know," Harry said, "but he's only interested in finding out how we sort of gel together… And he's a really nice guy, Ron – I wouldn't like to say no."

Ron quirked an eyebrow in a fashion similar to Draco, although, as Harry noted to himself, somewhat less elegantly. "Well, we both know what you think of Gavin, now, don't we?" he teased.

"Shut up!" Harry muttered, giving him a playful shove.

"Just telling it like it is, _Tinkerbell_!" Ron laughed.

Harry found himself reduced to a sniggering pink mess. He couldn't believe he was having this conversation with Ron. Ever since he'd told Remus about his 'secret' he'd been worrying what his friends would think. Until the moment Hermione had been flung her arms around him in the prefects' office he had almost believed that they would call him a pervert and abandon him. For a long time he'd wanted to pretend it wasn't real. If he ignored it maybe it would go away… But not even his Thing for Cho had been enough to convince him. What he felt for Cho was actually very different to what he felt for the boys he liked. He couldn't place it, but it was there. Very much so. It was like he was drawn to her; it was like they shared some kind of bond – which was ridiculous and infuriating. He hardly knew Cho, really.

But he knew Ron. He knew Ron better than anyone else, but he hadn't known what Ron would think. And to make matters worse, Ron was much less predictable than Hermione. He could quite easily have flown off the handle and gone mad about it. He was growing into a bit of a lad and something like that would intimidate most boys their age. Harry couldn't pretend he hadn't noticed that Ron was a bit awkward around him in the mornings and evenings when they were changing, or in the changing rooms after Quidditch practises. There was the fact that he always showered furthest away from Harry, to a point where Harry had begun to shower at strange times, just so he didn't make the other boy uncomfortable. Not to mention the unfortunate occasions when they might accidentally knock hands as they walked down a corridor and Ron would immediately shove both his hands under his arms or deep into his pockets and walk half a pace further away from him. And Harry knew the events weren't over-emphasised by a paranoid or hyper-sensitive mind, because Hermione had noticed it, too. She had heard Harry give a disheartened sigh as Ron flinched and ducked into the boys' toilets on the way to Charms, after he had made a silly (and, he now concluded, ill advised) gesture of affection, and said:

"Oh Harry, don't let it bother you! Ron'll be alright, but he needs some time to get used to the idea. He's still your best friend, even if he is behaving a little moronically at the moment. It'll be alright." 

Harry had wanted to reply that she couldn't be sure of that. That she didn't realise just how uncomfortable he seemed to make Ron at times… But he kept quiet. He didn't want to muddy the waters any further. Ron's behaviour _had_ been bothering him, but he hadn't turned his back on him, so Harry was grateful for what he got.

Sirius was an altogether different matter. Sirius, in a funny (rather impractical) sort of way, was like a parent. Your love life didn't appear to be something you shared with your parents; at least, not when you'd only just turned fifteen. Maybe when you were quite old, like twenty-five or something, but not yet. He didn't want to tell Sirius until he was ready, and he didn't think he was ready yet, no matter how right Remus was.

= = = = = = = = 

11 July, 1995.

= = = = = = = =

Harry sat on the deep window sill of his bedroom. He watched the moon slowly sail across the dark blue of the summer night sky. It wasn't quite full, yet, but as the calendar in the kitchen carefully counted down – each day crossed off in Remus' neat hand – it was only three days away.

Harry sighed and rested his cheek on the cool pane of glass. He was angry with himself; angry enough to have kicked the foot of the bed, hard, and bruised three of his toes – which hadn't made him feel any better. He had been at the cottage just a few weeks, but it was his home, the best home he'd ever had, and he was with people who truly cared for him and didn't treat him as slave labour. So why did he have to make things difficult for himself? He'd known Moony had only been teasing him – and seeing the man he'd always known as a sober and responsible professor laughing and joking and at last with a real smile lighting up and lifting years from his face was deeply heart-warming. But Harry had made that smile fade to nothing. He'd seen how his words had taken the light from the man's eyes and extinguished it. And, as he sat there on the window sill, he could still see the moment Remus had reached for the door handle, and with one last glance at Sirius, left the cottage.

__

"Maybe there's something in history repeating after all. Head boy and girl – both Gryffindors; Quidditch captain and star pupil… You know, I think someone should warn the Grangers to start saving for the wedding – don't you think, Padfoot?"

"Don't…"

"Mid-summer's day on the banks of a river-"

"I said don't…"

"Oh come on, it'll be smashing-"

"JUST SHUT UP! You don't know anything about it! What would you_ know about marriage, anyway? I don't see you booking your own church, so stop trying to plan out my life, alright? Just leave me alone!"_

Sirius had been quite upset, too. Harry had cowered away from him when he had yelled at him for being rude. Uncle Vernon had used his belt on Harry's bare legs more than once for being 'impolite'. Punishment was often physical at the Dursleys' and Harry expected at least a cuff around the ear from Sirius for his out burst. Instead, Sirius was absolutely aghast at Harry's reaction. He swore that he would never lay a malicious hand on him and seemed deeply shaken by Harry's fear of him. Harry had responded by running up to his room and locking the door. He'd stayed there for the rest of the evening.

Harry checked the clock; it was after midnight. He clambered off the window sill and opened the bedroom door a fraction. At the bottom of the stairs the light was on. Sirius was still up. Harry picked up his Invisibility Cloak and crept along the landing. Remus' bedroom door was open and his light off, but he could make out the smooth blankets on his bed; Remus wasn't back. Draping himself in the garment, Harry snuck down the stairs, careful to tread on the part nearest the wall so they didn't creak, and past Sirius in the living room. He lay sprawled on the sofa, gazing at the beamed ceiling as if it held all the answers to the Great Questions and Harry knew, somehow, that the questions Sirius was asking involved him.

He made his way through the kitchen and out the backdoor. The air was warm but licked his face with a cool breeze. Somewhere far away in the Forbidden Forest an unnameable beast wailed into the night and the school owls were hunting, attacking in silent swoops and disappearing off into the night with victorious screeches. Harry loved being outside in summer, even at night. He walked towards the lake, it being the focal point of the school grounds, and when he reached its banks he lay back on the sloping lawn and gazed at the network of constellations, wishing – not for the first time – that he was someone entirely different. He didn't know how long he sat there, but he didn't hear Remus approaching until he sat down beside him and lay against the slope, just as Harry was.

"Did you know that the Amerindians believe that all the stars in the sky are the souls of their loved ones?" he said wistfully.

"My primary school teacher mentioned it once, I think…"

They lay in silence for a few minutes before Remus confessed: "I come out and look at them, sometimes. I always liked that theory – it lets you believe that they're still watching us. I remember the day we buried my mother; I went outside and I spoke to her, and I really think she heard me. It was so tranquil… I was glad, almost, that she went when she did, because we could all see it coming -- the war, I mean -- and she didn't have to suffer the way the rest of us did… Then it was Lily and James… I still find it hard to believe they're gone, at times. I know what it's like, being all alone – I was alone, too, after they died and Sirius and Peter were both gone. All you, Sirius and I have got, now, is each other – and I know we're not your first-choice parents, but let's not spoil it…"

"Remus, look, I'm really, really sorry I yelled at you. I didn't mean it. I'll understand if you want to send me back to Privet Drive…"

"Don't be ridiculous!" Remus said, stretching out an arm for Harry to lean his head on his shoulder. Harry shuffled closer and made himself comfortable. "I'm sorry I upset you earlier, I honestly never intended to…" He paused and Harry turned to look at him. "Sirius and I were talking about it the other night – you're so much like James, Harry… It's so easy to see him sitting there and not you… He was used to our teasing about Lily – if anything he _encouraged_ it, because it detracted from our teasing about… well, about other things… The truth is that more than anything else Sirius and I wish the past fourteen years had never happened. It feels like we failed the three people who meant more to us than anyone. And I include Peter in that because we can't help wondering what we could have done to stop him turning to Voldemort; maybe it could have been different…" He gazed up at the stars for a moment before continuing; "But the fact of the matter is, we can't change the past, so we just want to make the best of the future. If I joke about history repeating it's because I wish it could; maybe this time we could get it right…

"You're family to us, Harry, just like your parents were, and there's nothing you could possibly say or do that is ever going to change that; nothing is ever going to make us want to send you back to those miserable Muggles. Everybody argues – James and Lily spent years at each others' throats before they got together, but they were one of the happiest couples I've ever known. And maybe Sirius and I aren't quite ideal parents – after all, we haven't had the fifteen years practise James and Lily would have had by now – but if there's anything you want or think we're doing wrong just _tell us_. We'll never know if you don't say so, will we?" Harry shook his head against Remus' shoulder. "And if there's anything you'd like to talk about we're both here for that, too. Goodness knows I needed all the help I could get when I was your age…"

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, rubbing at his eyes beneath his glasses and realising they were damp.

Remus cleared his throat quietly, "Nothing much, really, but it all seems so much worse at the time, doesn't it? What's on your mind? Is there anything?"

"It's okay – really – I'm just being over-sensitive about it…" Harry sighed.

"Well, why don't you tell me and we can both decide if you're being over-sensitive or not, hm?" Remus suggested, giving him a gentle squeeze, "Is it about Hermione? Was I a bit near the mark?"

Harry laughed at the irony of the question and caused Remus to look at him in surprise. "I almost wish I did…"

"Sorry?"

"I wish it was that simple…" Harry told him wearily.

"So you haven't got a crush on Hermione?"

"Not at all."

"Is it something along those lines, though?"

"Well, vaguely…"

"Harry, trust me on this, I was a Marauder, there is absolutely nothing you can tell me that I haven't seen already. You name it, Sirius or James – or Peter on a good day – did it and left me to plan the cover up. Not that I didn't have a few 'moments' of my own, admittedly, but I had enough fun watching them all getting into scrapes and sharing in the excitement at someone else's expense… But we were talking about you, weren't we?"

"You can talk about them if you like – I like hearing about my dad when he was at school."

"No, really, I can tell you tales about that any time. What's the matter, Harry? If there's anything Sirius or I can do, I swear we'll do it."

Harry stared up into the vastness; the stars glittered so white they looked like petrified snowflakes, frozen in mid-fall. He felt insignificant and detached, as though watching himself from one of the stars billions of miles away. As if he were on a world inside a snow-dome and were looking in on himself. "I'm tired of pretending, Moony," he said at last.

"Pretending what, Harry?" Remus prompted softly.

"That I'm the same as everyone else…"

"Aren't you? You seemed keen to prove that you were just the same as everyone else until now…"

Harry gave a small, deep-throated gurgle and shook his head against the man's shoulder again.

"How do you differ?" he asked in a gentle whisper.

"Because…" Harry paused and closed his eyes tightly, screwing up all his nerve to tell him. Remus wouldn't be upset, he couldn't be; he was too sensible and kind. The worst he could do was… _Tell Sirius_… "No. I can't, Remus…" he sat up and made to climb to his feet.

"Harry, I promise you, I won't be shocked or upset or tell anyone – I promise…" Remus assured him, grasping the back of Harry's t-shirt and tugging him back onto the grass with gentle ease.

"You promise?" People had made promises to Harry in the past, but keeping them often seemed rather beyond their power.

"I promise."

It may have been the lupine flicker in the man's eyes which was always there, so close to the full, but something so natural and earthy gazed back at him that Harry found himself spilling out everything to him. His fears, his nerves, his long-since-ended crushes on Bill Weasley and Oliver Wood, and some other fellow pupils, and how he _didn't _feel for Cho Chang and suspected he'd been wishing it so hard that he'd deluded himself into believing he fancied her. And finally, when he'd calmed down some, his greatest anxiety – what would his parents have thought?

Remus looked at him for a few moments before saying simply: "They accepted me, didn't they?" Then he pulled Harry back against his shoulder and spoke almost into his hair; "James and Lily were two of the kindest, most understanding people I knew in my entire life. It was James who finally wormed the truth about my condition out of me, Lily who comforted me when my mother died or when I had problems of my own. They were wonderful people and you're a wonderful kid – an asset to them. All they'd want is to know that you're happy. They wouldn't have cared if you were gay, straight, somewhere in between, purple with green spots, Martian… just as long as you were happy. Trust me, I knew your parents better than I knew myself."

"They wouldn't have been upset?" Harry asked, pulling away slightly and looking up at him.

"The only thing that would have upset them is seeing you so het up about it – no pun intended," Remus assured him. "Harry, you're still the same person – and I think Ron and Hermione…"

"You think I ought to…?"

"Yes, I do. Don't keep secrets from your friends, Harry, they only seem worse once they've had time to fester."

= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =

Ron was laughing so much at the idea of Harry dating that he tilted backwards and nearly knocked himself out on the foot board.

"And you reckon _I'm _the clumsy one!" Harry laughed, holding out his hand to pull him back upright.

"It's not my fault that the idea of you going out with someone is the funniest thing to pass through my head since I thought of Malfoy the Amazing Bouncing Ferret again the other day…" Ron scowled, rubbing his bump and sitting up of his own accord.

"Thanks, Ron, that really inspires confidence."

"Sorry…" Ron muttered, stretching out his legs and folding them back under himself again. "I just… I can't really get my head around it."

"That I'm gay, you mean?"

Ron blushed and played with the hem of his robe. "Well…_yeah_. And seeing someone… I mean, I've known you since we were kids and I never _realised_… it feels… weird, that's all."

"Well, y'know, I didn't realise, either," Harry assured him. "I'm only really starting to get used to the idea. It's a bit scary…"

"But how can you _not_ have realised, Harry? It's something so major…" Ron asked, frowning as though he was trying to fathom Hermione's Arithmancy homework.

"I know it is! It just all took a while to add up, that's all…"

"But how _do_ you know? I mean, couldn't it just be a phase, or something?"

"Well, people do say that, sometimes, but I don't think it is…"

Ron looked distinctly worried, and Harry had a horrible feeling that this conversation was going to end very uncomfortably in the near future.

"Do you think I could be?"

Harry blinked and gazed at Ron with confusion for a moment, not entirely sure if he was asking what it sounded like he was asking. "Could be… what, gay?"

"Y-yeah. Do you think I could be?"

"Do _you_ think you could be?" Harry asked, carefully.

"I… I dunno, because I don't really know what it feels like to be… _that_ _way_," Ron told him, sounding even more worried than ever.

"Ron – it is patently obvious that you fancy-" Harry very nearly broke the unspoken rule of never mentioning Ron's unacknowledged soft spot for Hermione, and quickly recovered himself by finishing with a very awkward: "_girls._"

"Yeah – I mean, I _do_…"

"So what the hell are you so worried about?" Harry demanded, half laughing with disbelief.

"Well, you liked Cho…" Ron pointed out.

Harry grimaced slightly; the last thing Ron needed to hear if he was getting worried about his own sexuality was that Harry himself hadn't been sure who he liked even very recently. He took a deep breath. "Thing is, Ron – I think I just wanted to like girls so much I convinced myself I liked Cho…"

"So you never did, then?" Ron asked slowly.

"No. Not like that, anyway…" Harry admitted. "Look, Ron, unless something's happened that makes you think you are, there's no reason for you to start worrying that you might be."

"But…"

"You know what made me realise, I think?"

"What?"

"That you liked Fleur and I didn't. All the boys liked Fleur – even Draco admitted that, last night – and I wondered why she didn't turn _me_ into a horrible, slobbering puddle at her feet like… well, like you," Harry explained, adding: "No offence…" with a wry grin.

"Oh cheers!"

"No problem. But you see what I mean? You're the same as all the other boys here."

Ron thought for a minute, before saying: "But at the Quidditch World Cup-"

"There was an army of them!" Harry cried, "No one stood a chance!"

"I s'pose not…" Ron nodded, leaning back against the foot board, carefully.

They sat in silence for a minute, before Harry asked: "Is that really what's been bothering you? That because I'm gay you assumed you must be, too?"

"I didn't assume anything!" Ron protested, his ears pinking slightly. "I just didn't think about it until you said, and then… well, I dunno about these things, do I?"

"Well, I think we can safely assume you're not," Harry assured him, patting his arm – and watching him flinch slightly. _Oh this is ridiculous!_ "Ron, look – I need tell you something and I don't want you to be offended."

"Uhm-"

"I really want you to believe me on this, because it's very important to me, alright?"

Ron nodded warily.

"I don't – in any way, shape or form – fancy you. So you can stop getting all nervous about it."

"I'm n-"

"Oh come on, Ron! You jump away when I touch you, half the time – even if I do it by accident. You and the other three in here are my mates, I know you _all_ too well for something like that. I know this is bound to be weird for you, but I don't want to make things awkward because of it!" He paused and lowered his voice, slightly, "Don't let who I am or am not interested in ruin things…"

"I'm not!"

"It makes me uncomfortable that you're uncomfortable…" Harry admitted quietly, "And don't pretend you're not."

"I – I'm sorry, Harry, I didn't mean to upset you…"

"I'm not 'upset', I'm just… if I want to go out and see people and… well, and do stuff, like any normal fifteen year old, I don't want to have to worry that it's going to lose me my best friend."

"It wont!" Ron insisted.

"Well, it was… it was almost starting to feel like it."

Both boys sat in silence for a long time, before the red-haired boy finally pondered:

"What's it like, d'ya reckon?"

"What?"

"Well… y'know – kissing someone…" Ron said, blushing. "D'ya think boys are different?"

Harry blinked at him for a moment, taken aback by the question, then suggested: "I dunno – ask the twins, they probably know… Though maybe not about the 'boys' part…"

"Are you having a laugh? I'm not asking _them_! They'd never let me live it down! And anyway, I wouldn't trust them to tell us the truth anyway…" Ron replied indignantly.

"Yeah, I s'pose so… So what about Charlie? Or Bill? They'd tell you, wouldn't they?" Harry offered, not even bothering to mention Percy.

"Oh yeah, I can just imagine that!" Ron scoffed, miming writing a letter on his palm, "'_Dear Bill, how are the curses going? I was just wondering what it's like to snog someone, please give as much detail as you can by return owl. Eagerly waiting for your reply (especially if you know about blokes), your little brother, Ron. P.S. Don't tell mum and dad I asked.' _Yeah, good idea, Harry. And I really hope Bill _doesn't_ know anything about blokes!" 

"Well, what's the use in having older brothers if they won't tell you something like that?" Harry asked, pushing his glasses back up his scrunched-up nose and carefully ignoring the last part.

"From experience, I'd say the main uses for older brothers are a) 'borrowing' their stuff, b) learning to fight, which is always useful when you start school c) '_borrowing'_ _their_ _stuff_ and d)… well, there isn't one, actually…Or if there is I can't think what it might be…"

There was a pensive silence.

"What we _need_ is practise," Ron mused eventually, "And someone to practise on."

"Oh yeah? Well it's easier for you, isn't it? Now we've established you aren't gay…"

"No it's not!" Ron argued, "It's a shame you don't like girls – they'd be falling over themselves to help _you_."

"Well I don't, so there's no help in that, is there?" Harry said, shrugging.

"We could always… nah…" Ron began, before dismissing whatever idea he'd had.

"What?"

"It's… nothing, never mind."

"Look, if you've had an idea just sodding tell me, because any idea is better that it coming down to it and turning out crap and embarrassing myself!" Harry insisted.

"What? You reckon you'll get to _snog him_?" Ron asked, grimacing slightly.

"No! But… well, I mean, just in case…" Harry admitted.

"You can't go doing something like that on a first date, you big jezebel!" Ron cried, with a chuckle.

"It's not a date, _mum_. We're just going to meet up in Hogsmeade and he's going to buy me a drink to say thanks for letting him sit through a practise – and I haven't even made sure he can, yet."

Ron twisted his face into a thoughtful frown, then said: "Don't worry about that, I'll sort _that_ out; now we've just got to sort about this whole kissing malarkey."

"So what do you propose, O Cupid?" Harry asked, privately pleased that far from wanting to abandon him or freaking out, Ron wanted to help. He reached over into one of the drawers in his bedside cabinet and pulled out a bag of sherbet lemons, taking one himself and offering Ron one.

"There's one thing – one extreme measure we could take…" Ron suggested slowly, sucking on his sweet.

"Yeah, and…?"

"Well, it's a bit… kind of _weird_."

"Weird?"

"Well, weird for us because… Oh _look_, you need to practise this, and I need to practise this… and….?" He gestured for Harry to contemplate that point and draw his own conclusions as to what he was saying.

Harry thought for a minute before choking on his sherbet lemon. "_Oh_! God, that's quite… Ron are you sure about this? A minute ago you were panicking because you thought-"

"Well, what other choice have we got? And at least… if I do this I'll know for certain, won't I? Because I'll have tried it…"

"Yeah, I suppose you're right…" Harry nodded. They each concentrated on their sweets for a minute before he asked, carefully, "So, when should we…um… practise, then?"

Ron took a deep breath and said: "Well, no time like the present, as Mum would say…"

"_Now?_"

"Well, yeah – I reckon we'll talk ourselves out of it, otherwise."

"Well if we'll end up talking ourselves out of it maybe we shouldn't do it at all…"

"Look, it's alright for you, you _intend_ to snog blokes…"

"But not _you_! I don't intend to snog _you_… "

"Harry, you're getting all hysterical. Stop it and lets get this over with, alright?"

"Alright," Harry agreed, concentrating on not hyperventilating. _I can't believe I'm even thinking of doing this! _"Yes, you're right… I'm being stupid. Let's get this… right… So, how…?"

"Um…" Ron shifted a bit nearer and studied the way they were sitting. "Bloody hell, this isn't going to work unless one of us is practically sitting on each other's lap! I'm not doing that – that's far too much like being properly gay or something!"

"You really do have as much tact as Draco, don't you?" Harry muttered, shaking his head.

"Well, you know what I mean!"

"Yeah, yeah, if you say so… So, come on, what now?"

"Well," Ron said, shifting again and gripping Harry's shoulders to place him at what he deemed an appropriate angle, "now we've got to kiss."

"Just like that?"

"That's the theory."

"Right."

Neither of them looked the other in the face for several moments.

"Well, go on, then…"

"Oi, this was your idea!"

"Well, it's your 'forte', innit?" Ron argued.

"If it was my 'forte', Ron, I wouldn't be sitting here with you arguing about it!"

"Well… we'll go together, then, alright?"

"Fine."

"Good."

Each boy took a deep breath and looked determinedly at the other, slowly they leaned in, but suddenly Ron leaned back and asked: "Hang on – what was the last thing you ate?"

Harry gaped at him in exasperation. "A sherbet lemon, Ron, you saw me eat it! And choke on it!"

"Oh yeah. Well, okay then…"

For the second time, both boys leaned in, but after a moment's hesitation each scraped together the nerve to actually do it. The ensuing collision of lips, teeth and dribble was not the most graceful kiss in the history of snogs and both boys withdrew from it rather quickly. Ron looked rather like he'd been slipped one of the twins' Ton Tongue Toffees, the way his mouth hung open and he half dry-retched, half choked. Harry was too busy nursing two very painful front teeth to notice.

"That was crap."

Harry glared at him, still rubbing at his teeth. "Well at least I didn't try and knock your incisors out!"

"It hurt my teeth an' all, you know!"

"Well if you hadn't brought them into it in the first place…!"

"Oh shut up."

They slowly composed themselves and wiped slobber off their chins and agreed that, as the first time had been an unmitigated disaster, it was best to have a second attempt. Careful, this time, not to go into it like sharks in a feeding frenzy, they puckered up their lips and gently, very gently, pressed them together. It proved considerably less painful than going in teeth-first, at any rate. Cautious experimentation told them that the open-mouthed part only actually worked if they both tilted their heads to the side; only it seemed that they both preferred to tilt their heads in the same direction, which caused a few moments of squashed noses until Harry gave in and tilted awkwardly to the left. The use of tongues, it seemed, was a matter that required more effort. It was all too easy to create rivers of dribble that neither was willing to claim, but they agreed that they were now probably capable of holding their own with any prospective snog-ee and called it a day.

"Well, one thing I have to say," Ron said, wiping his mouth on his sleeve, "I can now say, beyond any shadow of doubt whatsoever, I'm sticking to girls."

Harry finished dabbing his bottom lip on the back of his hand and agreed. "Yeah, well, I'm glad you said that, because I can now say – beyond any shadow of doubt whatsoever – that I really _don't_ fancy you, Ron. Sorry."

"S'alright."

They sat for a moment, both safe in the knowledge that whatever fleeting fears they might have had about their practising making things awkward between them, things were very much unchanged.

"Right, well, we never speak of that again, right?"

"Right."

"Is it time for dinner, yet?"

At that moment there was a gentle tap on the door and Hermione appeared, looking anxious. "Hello…" she ventured carefully, looking from one to the other.

"Hi, Herm."

"Is… um… is everything _alright_?"

"Yeah, why wouldn't it be?" Ron asked quickly, glancing at Harry.

"Well I was just wondering about… you know…"

"We're fine, aren't we, Harry?"

"Er… yeah, absolutely fine. Just spent the whole time chatting, didn't we?"

"Yeah! Yeah, just chatting. Not, like… doing anything else at all…"

"No."

Hermione looked between them again, this time concern replaced by vague suspicion. "Alright…" she said slowly, "Well, are you coming down for dinner? You've been up here absolutely ages…"

"Dinner? We were just talking about dinner, weren't we?"

"Yeah, that's right – dinner. Let's go."

"Yeah."

Both boys stood up and hastened past her, Ron patting Harry on the shoulder as they did so, leaving her staring after them in bemusement. "Well, at least Ron's stopped being so blinkered about _one_ thing," Hermione thought to herself as she watched them go. "Shame he can't see what's right in front of him…" Sighing, she shook her head and followed them down.


	5. Chapter V Your Beautiful Triangle of D...

****

Chapter ~ V 

Your Beautiful Triangle of Distortion

__

"Everybody helps me make my own mistakes…"Mansun

****

Draco lay back against the thin, crisp pillows in the hospital ward, feeling extremely sorry for himself. His throat hurt from retching, he had a throbbing headache and a shrill whistling in his ears that he couldn't stop and couldn't ignore. After having all manner of vulgar potions poured down his throat and the regurgitated substances examined, he was sincerely hoping Snape would have the heart to at least leave his lecture until the morning. No such luck.

Snape swept into the wing like an enraged tornado and stopped at the foot of the bed. He hovered over the boy, his face frozen into a look of icy disappointment. "Are you still unwell, Mr. Malfoy?" he asked, folding his arms carefully.

"Yes, sir, I feel appalling," Draco replied miserably, moving slowly into a sitting position.

"Good."

"_Good_?"

"Yes; I trust any further inclination to join the Other Realm is suitably assuaged for the time being."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Draco lied, looking up at him unflinchingly.

Snape leaned on the foot of Draco's bed, both hands pressed hard into the mattress. "You will not take me for a fool, for I can assure you I am not one," he told him quietly, "What I am, however, is interested. Interested to know why you found it more acceptable to run to Dumbledore's pseudo-prodigy that to your own HOUSE MASTER!" He drove his fist into the bed as he bellowed the last two words, his black eyes flashing menacingly.

"I wanted him to hear it from _me_," Draco replied levelly.

"That does not answer the question."

Draco glared back at him defiantly. It infuriated him that Snape's only pleasure in life came from running down the only person Draco himself wanted to be like. The only person beside his mother that he truly cared about. The one person they both owed for the fact that either of them had lived this long. He was a pathetic, bitter old git, waiting for a mid-life crisis and Draco was disgusted by his need to bully Harry just to make himself feel better.

"Harry needed to know," he said, refusing to clench his teeth as he'd so dearly like to.

"And you supposed we would neglect to inform _'Harry'_ or his… 'guardians'?" Snape demanded, tossing the words away from him like a soiled nappy.

"He needed to hear it from me; I had to tell him myself."

"Why would you turn to that sickening little brat? Why would you even care? Does your House mean nothing to you?" Snape spat, face contorted with anger. "When did you become a _Gryffindor_?"

Draco slid out of bed and stepped nearer to the professor. "I am no Gryffindor, _sir_, and I am no child that you can bully. I know what _you_ are."

"You know nothing."

"I saw you," Draco said evenly, silvery eyes narrowed and piercing straight into Snape's, "I saw you at the Manor, with my father, and I know whom you came to see. Such a convenient co-incidence that you were there at the same time as your old friend, _sir_. Or was it? Perhaps I should inform Dumbledore where you were in June…?"

"Foolish boy! You know nothing of the situation -"

"I know enough to have you thrown in Azkaban at the click of my fingers."

Snape stood up straight and advanced upon him slowly; "You will do nothing, you will say nothing." He leaned close to Draco's face, his large, hooked nose pressing close to Draco's small, retrusé one, "You know too much, and yet so very little. Still, you have the power in your –" he glanced down at Draco's clenched fists and raised one slightly "–_delicate_ little hands to jeopardise the very existence of the convenient little back-up group you have found yourself. Your stupidity could cost people's lives. Potter, Black and… the _creature_… well, they know deceptively more than they have let you know." He lowered his voice to a whisper, "They don't care about you. They have the information they need to protect the Celebrity, and if they happen to bring you through alive it will be nothing more than a happy co-incidence."

Draco glowered back at him, his usually attractive face twisted and hateful, 'delicate' hands clenched into fists so tight that his fingers ached; "You're lying," he spat. "Was this your task? Is this what you have to do to win back your Master's favour – ensure I make it to the Consumption? I bet you've had a pleasant little chat with my father, haven't you? I _knew_ I should have got rid of you before I said anything!"

"Dumbledore would never have allowed it."

"Dumbledore and Harry _will_ stop you; by the end of this your Master will be dead and you can join your friends in Azkaban."

"No, Draco," he corrected, his voice so low and calm that it grew even more intimidating, "it is _I_ who will ensure your position at the end of this. You appear to have forgotten that Harry Potter and his little entourage have failed to destroy him so far. Indeed, it was with the boy's own blood that he was returned to being, were you aware of that? Your new _friend_ brought the Dark Lord back to the truly Living." He paused, probably to revel in Draco's shock as the information sunk in. "I am disappointed in you. You have lowered yourself to the level of the Boy Wonder, his filthy little know-it-all and the incompetent ginger idiot. Dumbledore was right to keep you away from the meddling Trinity; you will have nothing more to do with them. Nothing." He straightened and contemplated the pyjama'd boy in front of him. "Should you have anything further you would like to 'expose', you will come to me. If I discover you have disobeyed me there will be consequences. Very serious consequences." He turned in a flurry of black robes and left Draco to his thoughts.

As the ward door closed, Draco pulled the curtains tightly around his bed and crawled back between the starched sheets. He couldn't remember when he'd last felt so afraid. His own head of house was threatening him, working for the very people he was hoping to escape from. Now that Snape knew it wouldn't be long before his father was informed. _Maybe he already has been…_

Curling up into a tight ball, Draco closed his eyes and remembered the warm afternoon in June, just a few days after he had returned from school, when he had stood outside the library and seen through the crack between the doors. Snape had been there, with Lucius, and Draco could hear their voices and the voices of others – people he was sure he would recognise if he saw them face to face. Then he had heard the chilling rasp of another voice, one he had heard in his nightmares and suspected was an echo from his very early childhood. The very sound of it had filled him with terror. He had felt like frozen fingernails were scratching down his shoulders; an icy snake slithered down his spine and settled around his heart. Draco had done the only thing that he had found himself capable of; he had turned and fled.

He scrunched his eyes up tighter and wrapped an arm around his knees, the other hand fisted against his lips. _They're going to come for me. I'm going to die._ He could feel a lump in his throat and his breathing hitched, but he was not going to cry over this. He wouldn't let them break him down; he would fight until the end if he had to. He thought of Harry; he was determined to prove to him that he was strong; that he had the courage his father never ascribed to him. If he had just one last chance to prove himself, then he would take it. He'd show them all that they'd underestimated him. He'd make Harry wish he'd accepted his friendship, if nothing else. 

__

But by then you won't be around to appreciate it, will you? His own voice reminded him from the back of his mind.

__

–That isn't the point... I just want him to realise that we could have been close. That I am_ worthy of him…_

'Potter, Black and… the creature…_don't care about you…'_

–He doesn't know that. Snape doesn't know _that…_

It's true, though. You know it's true.

– He cared enough to save my life…

Oh, but he's the Boy Who Lived – he wouldn't have wanted to ruin his reputation, would he? He probably only did it as penance for Diggory. He's a Gryffindor – his 'moral' streak couldn't have coped with the guilt.

– That's not true!

Oh but it is!

__

– He was nice to me, last night…kind.

He was spiteful. He hurt you and he knew he it. This is all an opportunity for revenge for him – don't you understand that? 'I don't go for blondes'? Don't kid yourself, Draco, he'll never love you; he'll never even like you. He – can't – stand – you.

– It's not_ true…_

Don't be so pathetic, so weak_! You're behaving just like Father always said you were._

– I am_ better than that!_

You're not good enough_ for Harry. He can see that, why won't you?_

– I am – I'll prove it.

To whom? Who cares enough to acknowledge it anyway?

– Me. I care. I'll prove it to myself – to you. And father – and Snape_…. I'll prove it to everyone…_

Draco rolled onto his back and tried to ignore the laughter in his head. His 'voice of reason' had always been spiteful. It inverted the venom he usually directed at the world in general and piece by piece eroded what semblance of self-esteem his father hadn't destroyed. There were times when he despised himself almost as much as everyone else did, but now he was going to prove that hateful, taunting voice wrong. All the powers of all the Realms wouldn't stop him, let alone Snape and Dumbledore. Harry was the only thing that mattered to him and he wasn't going to give up so readily.

For years he'd hated Harry, wished that he had never met him or that Voldemort would get the better of him and rid Draco of his existence for good. Then the feeling changed; it evolved into something entirely different. He realised that he would lose the biggest part of himself if Harry died; the potential void he would leave was so enormous that Draco couldn't bear to think about it. It would be like the Kiss, having his very soul removed – for that was more or less what Harry had become to him: his soul, the very thing that gave him the ability to feel when everything else had been numbed out. It scared him. He couldn't lose Harry, because if Harry was gone there would be nothing left for him to cling to, nothing to fight for any more -- no one worth fighting with, because only the scathing reproaches Harry threw back at him ever hurt. Their 'bond', if you could call it that, was a twisted sort of lifeline to him. It proved that he was still real, still human – still capable of the feelings his father had tried to crush out of him. Being in love with Harry proved that he was his own person, could think for himself, even if it meant he could never truly be what his father expected him to. 

His grandmother had said, once, that it was better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all. He wished he knew whether to have loved someone who hated you was also better than never having loved at all… To Draco it felt like a constant and painful hunger – a pain of the kind he had felt when he stopped himself from eating for days as punishment for displeasing his father – only infinitely worse. Every time he saw Harry, saw that he was happy the way he was – that he didn't _need_ Draco the way Draco needed him – his world came crashing down around him. And it happened on a daily basis. Yet, when he saw Harry looking melancholy – or even suspected that something had upset him – Draco would feel depressed for days, wishing that there was something he could do to restore the other boy's radiant smile to where it belonged. He'd put him on a pedestal and Harry was coming precariously close to blocking out the light.

Yet, his grandmother had also said that if you wanted something strongly enough, and made the effort to achieve it, anything was possible. Draco wished that his grandmother were still around; he missed her desperately. Thinking of her reminded him of being a child. He remembered playing with her in the orchard in late spring, throwing sticks for Cerberus, as his heavily pregnant mother sat on the swing and smiled at the three of them. And he knew, as he stared up at the blank stone ceiling of the hospital ward – a canvas on which his mind painted pictures from his childhood – that he couldn't give up until his father had paid for his actions. He wouldn't let him get away with taking so many lives. His mother still had a chance if Lucius was gone – they could live happily ever after, just like the people in the stories his grandmother had told him so often. And if not, then at least he would have punished his father for all the things he'd put them through. And Harry – Harry always wanted what was right, and he'd said himself how evil Draco's father was. He'd show Harry whose side he was on, if he didn't believe him already. Snape could go and whistle, because if it killed him Draco was going to speak to Harry and find out where he stood. And then, he would sort out his father… one way or another.

~*~

Harry was careful to sit facing in the direction of the Ravenclaw table at dinner. Gavin hadn't arrived yet and he could feel his stomach bubbling with nerves at the knowledge that he would walk in at any moment. Hermione was giving him extremely curious looks and kept leaning in to whisper to Ron, who flapped her away and told her Harry'd tell her later. She clearly wasn't satisfied by his unswerving responses and kept peering over her shoulder at the Ravenclaw table until Ron firmly grasped her ponytail and pulled her head back to face the front.

When Gavin finally walked into the room with Simon Wood and a lanky boy that Harry had only ever heard called "Bambi" (which was, the twins claimed, short for Bamboo) he looked over at the Gryffindor table and gave him a broad smile and a wink. Harry thought his cheeks were about to catch light, they were burning so hot. He studied his robes nervously and glanced over his shoulder towards the Slytherin table, simply so he didn't stare at the Ravenclaw. To his surprise, Draco still hadn't arrived; in fact, by the time dinner was over Harry (and every one else who had heard the tale of Malfoy throwing up in 'Pugsy' Parkinson's cauldron in the middle of detention) had begun to assume he was still in the hospital wing.

As Harry followed a bickering Ron and Hermione out of the Hall he was growing considerably uneasy about the Slytherin's well being. _What if we should have made him go to Madam Pomfrey yesterday? What if he's actually done some proper damage to himself or something? Some drugs can take days to kill you… Paracetamol! It's paracetamol, I'm sure it is… What if the pink packet had paracetamol in the pills? Ffff… _frig_! _He ran a few paces to catch up with the other two and grabbed Hermione's arm.

"Herm, you know those pills?"

"The ones… er, from _yesterday_?"

"Yeah, those ones. What did it say on the boxes? What was it you thought was dangerous?" Harry asked, urgently.

"Pain killers," Hermione told him, "for period pains…"

"Yep, yeah no more detail on that front, ta, Hermione!" Ron interrupted quickly.

"What kind of pain killers, though? Because I remember one of the neighbours at Privet Drive tried to do herself in and Aunt Petunia was telling Mrs. Maple from two doors down that she'd taken paracetamol. It messed up her liver or something like that, but it would have taken her _days_ to die from it."

Hermione looked at her friend's wide green eyes, less than surprised at the concern he was showing for the boy who was supposed to be his worst enemy. "Don't panic, Harry," she told him, "it was aspirin. Snape was right. I really don't think the amount he took would have killed him, anyway."

"Killed who?"

All three jumped as the twins appeared, broad grins stretched over their freckled faces.

"No one."

"Oh yeah? Didn't sound like it to us…"

"Well it's none of your business, so keep your noses out!" Ron scowled, prodding Fred on the tip of his and getting a clip around the head in retaliation.

"We're not interested anyway, are we, Fred?"

"Nope – we've got better things to be doing-"

"- too secret to tell _you_ -"

"- more exciting -"

"- more fun. Catch ya later, scruffy head!" George ruffled Ron's hair and they set off through a false wall to a hidden staircase.

Ron shook his head to flatten his hair. "Told you," he said to Harry, "No bloody use whatsoever."

The three of them carried on up to the common room, but all through the first prefects' meeting of the year and the impromptu celebration that broke out after the names of the new members of the Quidditch team were posted, Harry could only think of one thing: How was Draco doing? By the time the Gryffindor common room emptied, after midnight, Harry had a full case of the jitters. He'd lost count of the amount of times Hermione had slapped his hands away from his mouth to stop him biting his nails and Ron finally demanded to know precisely what he was behaving like an expectant father for.

"I'm not!"

"You bloody are!"

"He's acting as though he _worried_, if you ask me…" Hermione mused, "And the only thing to be worried about at the moment is-"

"His date with Gavin Cross?"

Hermione shot him a dark look, "_Malfoy_."

Harry frowned. "Of course I'm worried! The bloody idiot tried to kill himself on _my_ bed. _Mine_. I'm sick of people always dying around me, even if it is people I… Even if it's Malfoy." He stood up and made for the portrait hole.

"Harry, are you alright?" Hermione called after him.

"I'm fine. Really. I'm just going for a walk, that's all."

"Well, would you like us to come?" she asked, worriedly.

"No offence, Herm, but _no_." He stepped away from the portrait and it closed behind him.

Ron flopped back on to the sofa and picked up a left over pumpkin puff from the table beside them. "Bloody good Samaritan."

~*~

Sirius sat at the kitchen table with a cold mug of coffee between his hands. He was staring into it like a crystal ball and had been for the past two hours. He hadn't seemed to notice when Remus had stood in the doorway and watched him do nothing but think. He didn't appear see the worried expression on his friend's face. He'd had these moments every now and then since he'd moved into the cottage, but usually they would last twenty minutes at worst, and he would promptly snap out of it and act like an idiot again. Remus was starting to grow concerned, afraid that the dread of his friend's nightmares may be spilling over into waking life.

The first night Sirius arrived at the cottage they were both ecstatic to be together again - the last of the Marauders properly reunited. It had been a good night. They'd talked and talked and the fractured closeness was remoulded. They joked about old times as though the past fourteen years had been filled with prosperity and joy, not death and fear. The tranquillity didn't last, though, and Remus was woken sharply in the night by a chilling cry that caused him to leap out of bed and rush into Sirius's room in terror of finding a Dementor bowing over the other man, having just executed the Kiss. All he found was Sirius, lying flat on his back and staring at the ceiling, blankly. He was drenched with sweat and shaking; he seemed to be asleep with his eyes open and Remus had had no idea what he should do. He had spent the rest of the night sitting beside him, stroking his hair and waiting for the dawn.

Afterwards, Sirius had confided that memories of Azkaban plagued him in sleep, when he had no control over his subconscious mind and could be taunted by thoughts he had blocked out after fleeing the prison. They hadn't improved, although Sirius regularly insisted that he was fine and Remus shouldn't worry about him, and when they had heard Harry would be coming to live with them they had spent almost a week preparing Sirius's room so the boy need never hear his screams. The only problem with that was that Remus didn't hear them, either.

Slowly, Remus moved to the table and sat down close enough for his presence to be felt, but not close enough to encroach on Sirius's personal space. 

"Sirius?" Nothing. This wasn't looking good, and Remus was afraid to touch him in case it had the same effect as waking a sleepwalker. "Padfoot?"

Slowly, Sirius raised his head and looked at the other man. "Hm?"

"I think that coffee must be cold, now."

Smiling wearily, Sirius asked: "What time is it?"

"Late. You've been sitting here for a couple of hours – are you alright?" Remus told him, carefully taking the mug from the other man's hands.

"Of course I am. When have I ever been anything but, eh?"

"Sirius, don't try and pretend there's nothing wrong when you've spent the past two hours completely catatonic with a cold cup of coffee in your hands," Remus said, searching his eyes for some clue.

"It _started out_ hot!" Sirius retorted, mock-indignantly, "You make me sound like a madman!"

Sighing, Remus stood up and poured the coffee down the sink. "Do you want another?"

"Are you?"

"No, I'm going to bed soon…"

"Well, no thanks, then."

Remus leaned back against the sink and studied him again. "There was a time when you used to tell me everything – whether I wanted to know it or not." He gave a small, reminiscent smile. "_Especially_ when I didn't."

Sirius nodded and picked at his fingernail. "I know, Moo."

"You can still talk to me if you want to. In fact, I wish you would, because I don't understand what makes you have these turns." He returned to his friend's side, crouching with one hand on the table and one on his arm, looking up into hollow blue eyes that lacked their usual sparkle. "James would think you'd lost your marbles, wouldn't he? He used to think you were losing it when you stayed still for more than ten seconds…"

Sirius's face was spread with a broad smile, but his eyes were unfocused, as though he were looking backwards into himself, searching for a memory hidden away somewhere deep within. "He did say that once, didn't he? That he thought I was going 'utterly mental' because I was copying down your notes from History…"

"Yeah, that's right," Remus smiled back, glad that he had picked a good memory to draw on. "He wanted you to help him fill Lily's bed with spiders while she was at book group…"

"And I didn't want to because I was…" Sirius paused and scanned Remus's face, almost as if taking it all in to help him draw the rest of the memory forward, "because I was…"

"Going to get a detention," Remus finished, standing up and running a hand through his greying hair.

"Was that all?" Sirius asked, frowning. "It would normally have taken more than that to make me copy out so many notes, wouldn't it?"

"Yes… normally." Remus gave a slightly pained smile and walked into the living room. "James persuaded Petey to help him, remember?" he said, loudly enough for Sirius to hear him in the next room.

"Did they get the wrong bed…?" Sirius asked, vaguely, appearing in the doorway between the rooms with one hand to his mouth, pensively.

"Um… No, I think that was when they wanted to plant cockroaches in her top drawer… and they managed to put them in Isobel Strange's instead," the other man corrected, "It was weeks before she'd speak to any of us, wasn't it?"

"God… Yeah, it was – and you and I hadn't even done anything!" Sirius sat down on the sofa beside Remus, chuckling to himself. "Where _were_ we when that happened?"

It was a moment before Remus answered, and when he did so it was with one of the smiles Sirius had always called his 'charlie-grins'; charlie short for charlatan. "I don't know," the fair-haired man said, eventually, "Maybe I'm losing my memory in my old age…"

Sirius looked at him, scrutinising his face for further explanation. He knew it was there, but he couldn't place it.

Remus stood up suddenly, and murmured, "I'm going to head up, I think. I'll see you in the morning."

Staring after him in confusion, Sirius muttered goodnight to an empty room.

Later, Sirius lay in his bed, staring out at the black sky through the window across the room. He knew Remus was lying to him about not remembering and it hurt because he didn't understand why the only person he had thought he could rely on wouldn't help him. The memories were still there, hidden away where the Dementors hadn't been able to reach them, but Sirius had pushed the most precious ones down so deep he couldn't bring them back on his own. Sometimes they would float within touching-distance and useless snippets would come back, comprehensible only for a second before they vanished again, leaving him confused and frustrated. Even in sleep he was taunted by things he couldn't distinguish between products of his imagination or memories twisted and blurred into the madness of dreams. The things that did return, though, left him disorientated. So many feelings came without pictures but with an innate knowledge that they were associated with certain people – loyalty with James, protectiveness with Remus and mischievousness with Peter. Some were just emotions, scattered and meaningless with no reference points and no way of linking them to other things. He felt bereft and alone, although he went out of his way to hide it; confused by the closeness that Remus always seemed to sweep away when he began to grow sentimental. Sirius wanted to remember life before Azkaban – before it had all gone so terribly wrong – but without the help of the only remaining person he knew had been there, he realised that so many things could be lost forever. 

He climbed out of bed with an effort and walked to the window. On the crooked sill stood a picture frame with a photograph from their passing out feast – their last day as children before they faced the outside world. Three and a half years before it all went so horribly wrong. All the Marauders were there, sitting on the bench with their backs to the table – in James's case sitting _on_ the table with his arms around Lily on the bench in front, between Peter and Sirius himself. Their friends surrounded them; Isobel Strange, apparently having forgiven them for the cockroach incident, was perched on Peter's knee while Florence Fortescue sat next to James, leaning an arm on his shoulder. Sirius's younger brother Elias knelt on the table behind them both, waving and grinning; his short black hair and glasses making him look more like James than Sirius. Jennifer Potter sat next to Remus, smiling a smile exactly like James's. She had just finished her O.W.L.s and had got straight 'A's, so they had charmed a small lilac cloud to float above her, flashing the word 'GENIUS' in pink. And Miranda Fletcher sat cross-legged on the floor, pouting faux-pretentiously and twirling her brown curls around a finger.

The thing that always drew Sirius's attention, though, was the way he and Remus kept looking at each other. There were long, lingering glances and small smiles. It could be that they were 'thinking to each other' – as Peter always called it – moments when they seemed to communicate without saying a word. Remus had told him all about it, explained that they had come to the conclusion it was down to their canine counterparts and since they had been back under the same roof it was growing easier and easier to do – it was extremely useful when something needed to be said that Harry shouldn't hear, but what Sirius wanted to know was _what_ they were 'thinking' to each other. If he knew perhaps it would bring some lost memory back – something that would make the rest of it make sense.

He looked out across the grounds to the castle, at the distant top of Gryffindor Tower and the flag billowing in the breeze. Harry would be sleeping there, now, tucked up in the very room the Marauders had planned most of their scams in. _Harry's photo album… _He put the photograph down and went to his godson's room. Harry left the album in his bedroom, now. The picture Remus had framed for him seemed to be enough to keep in the dorm, and he could always come home in the evenings and weekends and look at the album as much as he wished. Sometimes he spent hours going through it from cover to cover again and again… It made both Sirius and Remus sad to watch him, reminded them that he had been deprived of the most basic human right… So, when he was at home, Remus would tell him little stories of their antics – always focusing on James and Lily, of course – and Sirius would listen as intently as Harry, hoarding away the information for later piecing together.

Sirius opened the door quietly and slipped in. The room was tidy – tidier than his own bedroom had been at fifteen, anyway – and the album took pride of place on the neatly made bed (which was probably Remus's handiwork). Closing the door quietly behind him, Sirius crept over to the large, wrought iron bedstead and sat down. Lighting the bedside lamp, he picked up the album and opened the front cover hesitantly. The first image looking back at him was James and Lily with baby Harry on their first wedding anniversary. He remembered that with a flash of white light. He could hear Lily's laughter again for a second, as James told him to hurry up because he was sure the baby had just 'done a nasty one'. It echoed through him, coming in waves like a half-tuned radio.

__

'Come on, Siri, hurry up, will you?'

'He's alright, aren't you kiddo?'

'Yes, but James is holding him, not you, Padfoot…'

-Remus's laughter, close beside him. The smell of wine… Peter's voice further away, telling someone that somebody was supposed to be training up for the reconnaissance sector but couldn't even take a picture without attracting the attention of the whole room… James again, telling him to hurry… Lily cooing at the baby and allowing his tiny fist to grasp her finger…

Sirius gazed at the photo, but he could see the whole room… a party. Elias and Clara sitting at a table… James's mother and father looking on happily… James and Lily with their son… fumbling with the camera… James telling him to hurry…_ Telling me to hurry… I took this… I took this picture…_ Snapping back into real-time he closed his eyes. Things were coming back… _They were so happy that night… we were all so happy…_

Sirius opened his eyes and turned the page. _The wedding…_ There he was, this time, laughing behind James as the groom gazed so lovingly at his new wife in her flowing white robes that it brought a lump to Sirius's throat. They were all there, again – Jennifer in her pale blue bridesmaid's gown, Miranda the maid of honour in pink, Florence with Miranda's brother, Mundy, her fiancé. Peter and Remus, the ushers, dressed in grey and red stood to James's right.

_This was taken just before she threw the bouquet and it hit Remus in the face…He got pollen in his eye…he could hardly see for a week!. _Sirius chuckled to himself as he heard Remus's string of old-fashioned exclamations all over again…

Lily fussing over him, making James laugh… 'Oh poor, poor Moo – I'm so sorry!'

'Flippingflamingblastedbothersome stupid_ bloody flowers!'_

Laughter… lots of people laughing…

'Aww, that's our Moony – anyone else would have just shouted: "FUCK!"'

'Don't mock me, Potter.'

'Yeah, don't mock him, Potter, can't you see the poor lamb's suffering?'

'One more sheep's clothing joke, and I promise to find somewhere extremely interesting to put these, Sirius.'

'Well, I don't think I believe the superstition anymore…' - Peter, laughing at the fuss - 'because I can't see Moony getting married any time soon…'

Remus holding one hand over his eye… and a look… a look from Peter to Sirius… 'I'd better go and wash this…' Remus turning and walking into the rambling old hotel by the river where the wedding had taken place…

Lily again, troubled, this time: 'Peter…!'

'What? Padfoot can make a wolf joke and I can't even say that?'

James, sighing; 'It's a bit different, Pete…'

Sirius's own voice: 'He'll be all right, you know Remus…'

Miranda walking out of the large old doors with a drink… 'Yeh know, Remus jes' rushed pas' me lookin' like he'd lost a galleon an' foond a knut. Somethin' wrong?'

A murmur from the gathering… looks exchanged awkwardly…

'Maybe you should go and see if he's okay, Siri…' Jennifer, touching his arm…

'What? Why me?

James… exasperated… 'You bloody know why!'

'James! Don't-' Lily… Lily blushing and looking at Sirius.

'Because yeh're a dozy idiot and y'always cheer 'im up. Go on, go.'

Sirius struggled to pull more of the memory towards him, like a magician pulling a string of handkerchiefs from a top hat. There was a bathroom… a large gilt mirror and busy wallpaper… He remembered finding Remus just gazing at himself. Staring and staring, one pale hand clutching some wet tissue, but just staring at himself impassively. What had Sirius said to him? He knew there was something… something that had… _That made him happy…_

'Moo?'

Remus not looking at him… not meeting his eye… like when he tried to lie and couldn't keep up the act…

'I'm fine, Siri, go back to the reception…'

Jumping to sit on the row of sinks…nudging Remus with his fist… 'Nope.'

Big eyes… a rabbit in headlights… a green that reminded him of peppermints.

'You have to give your speech soon…'

'Stuff it, they can wait…'

'Sirius, please…'

'Not going anywhere unless you come with me.'

Remus's voice… desperate… sad… 'Please, leave me alone, Siri… just for a while.'

'He didn't mean to upset you, Moo.'

A smile…not a happy smile… a 'charlie-grin'…'Many a truth is spoke in jest…'

'Yeah, but many a joke is spoke in jest, as well and there's a wedding going on out there and the bride is worried about you.'

'Well go and tell her I'm fine and she can stop worrying.'

'But you're not, Remus, and Lily always knows when I lie. You know she does. And she cares about you…'

The flow of the memory broke. Tiny snaps of phrases filtering through haphazardly.

_'…all care…you'_

'…alone…'

'…got us…' 

'…you…'

'…unhappy…sorry…' 

'…stupid…always…' 

'…understand…don't realise…I'm not…' 

'…know you…'

'…joke…'

'…want me…anyway'

'…if…marry you…luckiest…alive…'

Sirius dropped the album as light flooded into the room. Looking up, he saw Remus standing in the doorway, almost silhouetted in the luminosity from the landing. And in that moment the floodgate broke; he knew what Remus was hiding.

~*~

Harry wandered around aimlessly for a while, taking random turns and staircases as he came upon them, repeating "He's fine, it's just Madam Pomfrey being over-cautious…" like a mantra, until the words became jumbled and he didn't even know what he was saying any more. He wasn't surprised when he found himself standing outside the hospital wing, even though he'd had no intention of going there. He stared at the dark wooden door and took a deep breath. _What are you even thinking? Just go back to the Tower. It's stupid worrying so much when you know he's probably fine. He'd laugh in your face if he could see you now. And to think you accused _him_ of being a stalker, yesterday!_ Never the less, Harry's hand reached out to hover above the doorknob, seemingly of its own accord. _But what if he's not? What if he's really ill and it's all your fault for never giving him the chance to tell you? You'll have killed him, too. No. That's stupid. It wasn't my fault, I never asked him to do it. But he'll still be dead… I couldn't live with that, knowing it was my fault. But even if I walk in there now, I can't save him. He'd want me to be there, though; I know he would. And since when do I care what Malfoy wants? Since he gave up everything to keep you alive, that's when. That's a life debt, and you know it. You owe him, Harry._ Harry closed his eyes and took a second deep breath, which was expelled in a small yelp as the door was flung open before him. He found himself staring into a pair of eyes that shone like a cat's in the darkness, and for an irrational moment thought he had been caught by Mrs. Norris.

"What are you doing here?" Draco hissed, staring up and down the corridor as though he expected Filch to leap out from the shadows at any moment.

"I'm… nothing. I was just walking around and I sort of… I just ended up here," Harry shrugged, blushing into the darkness.

"You 'just happened' to end up here?" the blonde boy asked, carefully, "No motive whatsoever?"

"Er…yeah. I mean no!" _Told you to go to bed, you idiot!_

Harry could feel his cheeks burning brighter and wondered why so many things had happened in the past few days that had made him blush. As if one thing at a time wasn't bad enough to cope with! In addition to his 'honorary godfather' thinking he was seeing _Malfoy_, Snape making a show of him in class, falling down the front steps, making an idiot of himself in front of Gavin Cross and snogging his best mate he had now also been caught loitering by the one person whose attention he'd have preferred to avoid. Sod's Law 6, Potter nil.

"What are _you_ doing out here, anyway?" Harry asked, hoping to divert the conversation away from himself.

"I was coming to find you, actually. You've rather conveniently saved me the bother."

Sod's Law 7, Potter nil.

"Oh."

"Quite. Come on, you mindless idiot, let's break into some obscenely under-protected classroom and sit down." 

Harry found that he didn't have much choice in the matter, as a pair of small hands with an oddly tight grip clamped onto his shoulders, turned him around and frog-marched him along the corridor. Between them they managed to break into the Arithmancy classroom without any problems and settled down on top of a couple of desks. Harry had never been in the Arithmancy classroom before. He stared around at the number charts and tables and was glad he hadn't chosen to take the subject.

"Snape came to see me, you know."

Harry snapped out of his thoughts and looked at the other boy. "Well, he's your House Master – and you're evidently his favourite student – he was probably worried," he suggested.

"He's working for Voldemort."

Harry opened his mouth but didn't say anything. Of course, he knew about Snape – he was infiltrating the Death Eaters and risking his life to help the Order. He didn't know what to tell the other boy to stop him thinking they were putting him at greater risk, because he couldn't blow Snape's cover.

"I need to know something," the blonde boy said suddenly.

"Well, if I know the answer I'll tell you. If I don't you'll just have to believe me, though…"

"Of course I'll believe you!" Draco replied a little too quickly, then stared off into the middle distance for a moment. "You're an honourable Gryffindor, after all." Harry gave a small smile and continued to watch him as his attention moved to the large, round window and the sky beyond it. "I need to know what happens now and I need to know why you're doing this."

"What? I – well, I dunno what happens now. That's something I really can't answer because I don't know what Voldemort's going to do – as much as I wish I did… But as for why I'm doing this… well, you asked me to. I couldn't have just ignored you after finding you unconscious on my bed, could I?" Harry absently picked at the splintered chip on the side of the desk he was sitting on. "I'm sick of there always being so much death around me… sick of it all coming back to lie on my shoulders because I'm the Boy Who Lived and now I have to make up for it by saving everyone else's lives all the time." He raised his eyes to the other boy's, "But I would have done all I could to save you, no matter who you were…"

Draco stared at him in silence (which made Harry feel deeply uncomfortable) before murmuring: "So it has nothing to do with you wanting to save _me_, it really _was _because you were making up for Diggory."

"'Making up for Diggory'?" Harry echoed angrily, "I can't believe you just said that. You think I wanted to save _you_ – not that you actually needed it, if you remember, because you couldn't even kill yourself properly – you think I did that because I couldn't save Cedric? You actually think that's a worthy exchange? I… I just can't _believe_ you, Malfoy. But I suppose I should have known that _you'd_ be the first to blame me. What next? Planning to accuse me of actually _killing_ him, too?" Shaking, Harry stood up and made for the door, only for the other boy to dart in front of him and engulf himself in flames so he couldn't even push past him. "Get out of my way, Malfoy."

"No." His eyes seemed to flicker with an icy white light, too cold to be rage, too controlled to be pain.

"You expect me to stay here after what you just said?" Harry half-yelled, feeling tears of anger try to force themselves out.

"That isn't what I said, and let's face it, you don't have much choice. This _does_ burn mere mortals like you, you know."

"Are you planning to use that to get your own way all the time, now? It's a nice party trick, but it's not that much of a defence, really, is it? Not in a world where someone can kill you without being anywhere near you."

"No, but it's a fairly good preventative measure when it comes to temperamental Gryffindors."

Harry sighed and leant back against the nearest desk, feeling helpless. "What do you want from me, Draco? I've helped you out – I've done what I promised I would-"

"Yes, but _why_?" The flames disappeared, leaving the same perfect skin and immaculate robes unsinged, "I need to know, because I need to know if it's true." The imploring look confined solely to the other boy's eyes and touching no other part of his pale face made Harry's insides wrench in two directions, unsure whether to bolt for the door now that the obstruction had been removed or drag him into a hug and murmur 'There, there' as though he were a tot who'd lost his favourite teddy.

"I don't understand, Draco…"

"He said that now you've got the information from me you'll leave me to fend entirely for myself. If I come through this with my Life he said you'll consider it a 'happy coincidence'."

"Who said that? _Snape_?"

Draco nodded and fumbled in his pockets until he found a cigarette packet, which turned out to be empty. He scrunched it up and threw it on the floor in annoyance.

"Draco, I dunno what Snape's trying to do, but that's not true. Not at all!" Harry told him, moving to stand in front of him and squeezing his arm reassuringly, receiving a quelling look in return. He quickly let go and stuffed his hands under his arms. "Dumbledore – and _all_ the teachers here – will rally round and protect you as much as they can. No one can hurt you while Dumbledore's around. You heard what he said – he admires your honesty and bravery! He's going to get you trained up to use your… whatever you want to call it – 'gift', I guess…"

"And in return I'll be expected to fight for the Order, I suppose?"

"If that's what you want," Harry replied, "but they aren't going to force you to do anything. They don't use intimidation like Voldemort does. They just… they let people make their own decisions. That way no one can really regret it. Not properly…"

"How very diplomatic."

"Well it's better than being trapped like some Mafioso or something!"

"Oh and that makes Voldemort the Godfather, I suppose?"

"Godfather?"

"That's what they call them, isn't it? Those Muggles who run Italian families?" Draco asked, smirking.

"Yeah, but how did _you_ know that?"

"I'm not entirely incapable of absorbing Muggle culture, you know. Particularly if I feel I can identify with it."

Harry found himself laughing. Of all the surreal conversations to be having…

"How can you laugh about this? This is my entire future at stake, here!" the blonde boy demanded irately, reaching out as if he wanted to shake the Gryffindor senseless, but refraining with an obvious struggle and stepping back.

"I'm sorry – I wasn't laughing at you. It's just that I never would have believed I'd be sitting here like this, with you, talking about cult Muggle movies at one o'clock in the morning if you'd told me I would be, three days ago. It's quite… odd."

Slowly, a half-smile broke onto the other boy's face. "I suppose it is, a bit. But it doesn't change the fact that the only reason you're making the slightest ounce of effort is your over-blown Gryffindor dutiful streak."

"'Dutiful streak'?" Harry laughed in disbelief, "Just drop the self-pity, will you, Draco? The fact of the matter is that you didn't do enough to kill yourself. I did wonder, what with you being up here all day, but obviously you didn't, so I don't have to worry any more. And as you didn't do enough to kill yourself, and are seriously over-reacting, I don't understand why you're throwing such a wobbly about it _now_."

"You were worried about me?" Draco asked after a moment, barely above a whisper.

"For God's sake, how many times do I have to go through this?"

"He told me you couldn't care less about me."

"Draco, Snape cannot stand me. He hates me. And I strongly suspect that our 'feud' finally coming to a conclusion has thoroughly hacked him off. What he's doing is trying to convince you I'm the conceited little prat he thinks I am. Do you usually believe everything he says?"

"He's my House Master."

"What, and that means he speaks the Divine and Pious Word, does it? Are you telling me you actually do believe everything the man says?"

Draco scowled at him but didn't answer.

"Well, that answers the question…"

The other boy turned away angrily and, lifting his hand, punched the air towards the floor. The nearby discarded cigarette packet was instantly frazzled.

"Draco! Stop it, alright? This pyro stuff is really starting to freak me out!" Harry cried in alarm, recoiling from him nervously, "I can't believe you told Dumbledore you aren't trained!".

"I'm not 'trained'. Working it out for yourself can be hours of fun," the Slytherin replied sarcastically, transferring a tiny flickering flame from finger to finger.

"How do people deal with you, Draco?" Harry yelled, watching the other boy's hands, desperate to grab them, make them stop fiddling with the flame. It obviously didn't hurt him, but Harry's instincts were to stop him playing with something he automatically perceived as dangerous. "Draco, I said _stop_ _it_!"

Reluctantly, Draco caught the flame in his fist then opened his palm to show Harry it was gone.

"I try to help you and all I get in return is tantrums and accusations," Harry said, rubbing his brow, "Tantrums, accusations and freaky games with fire... Either you want to sort this out or you don't. Just make your sodding mind up because trying to be patient with you is taking up a lot of energy."

"This is you being _patient_?"

Harry gave him a thoroughly irritated look and didn't trust himself to reply. 

Clearly, Draco could also see the brink was painfully near. "I'm sorry," he murmured awkwardly, grey eyes looking anywhere but at Harry.

"Are you?"

"I just said so, didn't I? I never apologise for the same thing twice."

"You mean you regularly apologise for things once?"

Draco gave him a cold look.

"Alright, alright – apology accepted. But just don't start again, for God's sake…" Harry sat back down on the desk and decided to restart the conversation from where it should have begun. "So, are you feeling any better, now?"

"Slightly."

"Not likely to throw up all over _this_ classroom? That was pretty toxic vomit, by the way."

"It reacted with the potion, that's all. And no, I'm not about to find you another little chore. I don't think so, anyway..."

"Good. Just please don't try that again," Harry said, "As much as I hate to admit it, you really had me worried…"

"Did I?" The tiny inflection of hope that slipped into Draco's voice made Harry's conscience twinge.

__

You're so harsh to him, even though you know how he feels…You should have been a Slytherin yourself, Potter…

"Yeah… Yeah, you did worry me. I really didn't want you to die, Draco."

"Thank you," he said, looking at him meekly, "You can't begin to realise how much that means to me."

Embarrassed by the other boy's rare display of weakness, Harry found himself muttering: "I couldn't help it – it wasn't intentional." He instantly regretted it when he saw the look in the other boy's eyes, but decided not to try and dig himself out of that particular hole. After all, it was true.

Neither of them spoke for a while, but Draco finally composed himself and broke the silence by asking: "Are you looking forward to going down to the village at the weekend? It's quite early this year, isn't it?"

"Er… yeah. They aren't sure how long it'll be safe enough to let us go down there, I think." _Don't mention Gavin, don't mention Gavin, don't mention Gavin, don't mention Gavin…_

"I'll be glad to get out of here, even if it is only for a few hours. I can't bear being stuck in the same place all the time. I hate feeling trapped, don't you?"

"Er, yeah, but growing up in a cupboard for the first eleven years of your life sort of makes you glad to have _any_ space," Harry shrugged.

Draco's silvery eyes widened; "It's _true_? Those filthy Muggles really did keep you in a cupboard? I thought it was a stupid rumour!"

"No, it's true. But when I started here they moved me into Dudley's second bedroom – where he used to keep his toys. You should have heard the fuss he made…"

"The spoiled little brat actually begrudged you that?" Draco demanded furiously. "Do they even know who you are?"

"They know I'm a wizard – nothing else counted for much. They hate me even more than you."

Draco hesitated, as though he was going to say something about not hating him, but seemed to change his mind, instead saying: "I knew there was a reason I hate Muggles. They have no respect."

"And you do?"

"For people who deserve it! I cannot believe those barbarians kept you of all people in a _cupboard_! It's sickening. I can't believe you never did anything about it."

"Well, I didn't even know who I was until Hagrid told me and I came here. I thought my parents died in a car crash and that that was where my scar came from… Then Hagrid came and I found out the truth. After that things changed. Only a bit, admittedly, but it was better than nothing. I thought everyone knew…"

"Well I'd heard it, but I thought it was a ridiculous rumour. Like the one that Longbottom has been put forward to a scholarship at the Fecundfield Academy."

"Oh no, that's true, too," Harry told him. "Professor Sprout's really impressed with him. He's brilliant at Herbology. When he's done his O.W.L.s he's taking an entrance exam and after his N.E.W.T.s he's taking a V.I.N.E."

"A V.I.N.E.?" 

"Very Impressive Nurturing Examination. Or something."

Draco gave a small chuckle of disbelief. "Wonders will never cease."

"Oi – Neville's not actually thick, he's just a bit hapless. He's spent all his life being brought up by a really strict granny and he's not very confident. Leave him alone."

"Oh I do apologise. I never realised he was such a sore point for you," Draco teased smugly.

"Do you _know_ why he lives with his gran, Draco?"

"No, why would I?"

"Right, well I'm going to tell you something and I need to know I can trust you to keep it to yourself, alright?"

Draco looked vaguely taken aback but said: "You have my word, go on."

"He lives with her because his mother and father are locked up in St. Mungo's with Peter Pettigrew. They were severely tortured by the Death Eaters – mainly the Lestranges, I think – and it drove them insane. They don't even recognise him. And I'm the only one who knows. I was told in confidence and I need you to help me keep that. But don't ever put Neville down again, alright? He's put up with a lot more than I'd be able to."

Draco didn't answer; he merely looked at the floor.

"Are you okay?" Harry asked eventually.

"I'm fine."

"I don't think I believe that," Harry said, leaning forward to look beneath the other boy's curtains of silvery hair.

"The Lestranges were marked down as my guardians, should anything happen to my parents before the Consumption," Draco admitted, glancing at him. "I knew they were in Azkaban for things they did in Voldemort's name, but I didn't know it was that. Just another of my father's secrets... Aleister was brought up by his grandparents, when they were locked away. Poetic justice."

"Aleister? The one who won that award thingy when we were in the second year? Aleister's the Lestranges' son?"

"Well, that would be why he's called Aleister Lestrange, yes." 

"There's no need to be sarky, Draco. He's five years older than us – I just assumed he was a nephew or something."

"Well he's not. He's their son, and I don't know what Dumbledore was thinking in keeping him here."

"You can't blame the sons for the sins of the fathers. Or so they say. Dumbledore was probably hoping to keep him on the straight and narrow. He trusts people."

"Then Dumbledore is a fool. Aleister Lestrange has never been 'on the straight and narrow'. The Lestranges are innately Dark. They have a name worse even than the Malfoys, among those with inner knowledge. They were brazen and unashamed supporters – they were revered for it. I never realised what they did, though. But I don't find it particularly surprising. Mathias, their younger son, was a few months older than me. I was told he died of cot death. It would not surprise me if he was given to Voldemort in the first wave."

"He's already _taken_ people's Life?" Harry asked in alarm.

"Years ago. That was probably why you didn't kill him completely. He was harvesting babies; I was due for the next Consumption, I would imagine."

"God… this really is a major plan, isn't it?" Harry murmured.

"Yes, extremely."

"I'm glad you came to me," Harry said tenderly, "You may well have saved a lot of people, not just us. You're a bit of a hero."

"No, it was primarily a selfish act to save myself from something that was against my will and to keep you from the same fate."

"Well yeah, but you were obviously thinking of my welfare, too – you admitted that."

"Listen to yourself – ever the accommodating Gryffindor." He slid off the desk and moved over to the window, "Harry, the biggest reason I had to warn you was because if you were dead…" he lowered his voice and leant against the cold stonework with his arms folded, "then what hope did I have? What purpose?"

Harry didn't know what to say. He wished more than anything, though, that he could feel something for the Slytherin that was closer to what the Slytherin felt for him. All he felt was guilt at not being able to. Half of him wanted to get up and give the other boy a hug, but he was afraid firstly of being pushed away and secondly of giving the other boy the wrong impression. He didn't want to get his hopes up unnecessarily; it wouldn't be fair.

"I know you don't like me, Harry, I'm quite used to it. It's alright."

Harry looked up to find that the other boy was now leaning with his back to the window, studying his fingernails.

"Drac, I – well, I'm _sorry_… I do like you. I just…I can't…"

"You don't like me," Draco told him levelly, "you just feel indebted to me."

"No, Draco, honestly – I like you. I do," Harry insisted, and found he wasn't really even lying.

"Well, you're rather fickle, then, aren't you? You've hated me for four years, now you spend a few hours in my company and suddenly you like me."

"But I didn't _know you_, Draco, I-"

"You don't 'know' me now, either."

"Well I know you better than I did and I know you aren't half of the person I thought you were," Harry argued, standing up and tentatively making his way to where the other boy stood.

"So what, you want to be my friend, now, do you?" Draco asked, brusquely.

Harry hesitated. '_Malfoy's a prat and I have no _intention_ of being his new best buddy…' _It was less than a week since he'd said those words, but here he was, extending the proverbial olive branch. _Ron is going to lynch you for this…_

"Yes."

"_Yes?_"

"Yes, I'd like for us to be friends. I don't want fight with you anymore. There's going to be too much of that going on around us to put each other through it, too…"

For a moment, Harry thought the other boy was about to tell him where to stick his olive branch, but then Draco smiled at him – a wide, radiant smile that changed his face so totally he could almost have been a different person. "I don't think you and I will ever stop fighting," he grinned, "but between times I wouldn't object to giving it a try."

Relieved, Harry also broke into a grin. "Good. And you know, that's the first time I've seen you do that."

"What?"

"Smile. Properly, I mean – not just revel in someone else's misery."

The smile faltered and faded. "My reasons for smiling 'properly' are few and far between, so it's hardly surprising," he replied frigidly.

"Sorry – I didn't mean that nastily…"

"Perhaps. Doesn't alter the fact, though." They stood in silence for a few minutes before Draco asked: "So, do you have any plans for the weekend?"

__

Oh shit… "Um… I'm just going to do the usual, y'know? Go shopping, go to the Three Broomsticks…"

"Alone?"

"Of course not – people will be coming with me and there'll be loads of teachers around. Even Moony's giving up his Saturday to come. Although that's probably just him wanting to make sure _I'm_ okay… He insists it's not, but he tends to mother me a bit… He should be feeling well enough by then, at least…"

"What do you mean?"

"Er – _moon_?"

"Oh. Yes, I forgot about that for a moment."

"Didn't you notice this morning?"

"Notice what?"

"His eyes? They turn amber in the last week before the full and they're back to normal the morning after."

"I can't honestly say I ever knew what colour Lupin's eyes were even when he taught here, actually. But they did have a yellowish tinge, this morning." Draco seemed to think for a minute before asking: "Is he safe, living just out there when the school is occupied?"

"Of course he is! Snape makes him Wolfsbane and he just curls up in front of the fire or he and Padfoot go for a long run in the forest like they used to. He's not dangerous at all if he takes that… he still suffers, though. It's really excruciatingly painful because of the deformation of the muscles and tendons and things… I feel really sorry for him. They made me stay in my room over the summer, when he was changing, but the sounds were horrible… Really horrible." Harry fell silent for a moment, remembering how the cries of agony had chilled him to the bone. "But no, Snape's Wolfsbane means he's completely safe."

"Snape?" Draco muttered darkly, "_Snape?_"

"What about him?"

"Do you have any idea how much he loathes Lupin? Any idea at all?"

"Yeah. They're old enemies from school. His battle is really with Sirius, now, though."

"Harry, Snape would probably poison the pair of them at the first opportunity and _Lupin_ is drinking potions he is making him? Do you realise how absurd that is?"

"Draco, Snape might hate them, but he wouldn't hurt either of them…"

"He told us that Lupin was a werewolf in the first place, even though he knew what that would mean – I really think you're underestimating him. He refers to Lupin as the 'creature'!"

Harry's face drained of colour. He was so angry he could have walked into Snape's rooms and punched him full in the face. "He calls him _what_?"

"The 'creature'… Harry, I told you Snape hates him-"

"The hateful, wicked, _petty_ old bastard. The mean, malicious little-"

"Harry-"

"I'd like to show him who's inhuman…" the Gryffindor seethed. "_Bastard_!"

"Do you have to keep swearing like that? It's disgusting!"

The bespectacled boy took a calming breath. "Sorry. Sorry, I wouldn't normally, but there is no word _despicable_ enough for that wicked, _iniquitous_ old git. There isn't. Remus is the kindest, most caring person I know. He's just… he's brilliant, and I cannot believe that even Snape could be as nasty as that about someone so fundamentally _decent_."

"I can. I see the way he is to you in class," Draco replied.

"Yeah, well…" the Gryffindor muttered, waving his hand dismissively, "That's different."

"It isn't."

"Whatever. It just upsets me more to think that someone would say that about him. It's like insulting someone's mother, for me."

Draco raised an eyebrow, but merely shrugged.

"Sorry… I shouldn't start shouting my mouth off, but that is just… just _unnecessary_."

"I'm sure it is," Draco nodded. "Listen, Harry, would you like to meet in the village, next weekend?"

Harry's jaw dropped. _Oh great…_ "Uhm… We're not supposed to speak in public, are we?"

"Use the cloak."

"I don't want to spend all day under that thing now I'm finally allowed to go there without it, thanks. And you'd look like a complete idiot walking around talking to someone nobody can see, wouldn't you? Hermione hates doing it…"

"Fine. Don't worry, then," Draco said, turning back to the window to hide his disappointment.

"Sorry, Drac."

"Drac_-o_."

"Sorry – Drac_o_. I'm just going along with what Dumbledore wants. He usually knows what he's talking about," Harry told him, half truthfully.

Reluctantly, Draco nodded. "I know… It's just going to be rather boring, that's all."

"Are you going to go alone, then? I mean, aren't Crabbe and Goyle going with you?"

"I avoid spending time with them, at the moment. Death Eaters' children aren't my favourite people just now."

"Oh… Well, what about-"

"No."

"What do you mean 'No'? You didn't even know who I was gonna suggest!"

"Yes I did."

"Oh yeah? Who?"

"Pansy."

"Ah."

"You're so predictable," the Slytherin tutted. "Let me warn you: spending time with Pugsy Pansy is even more likely to drive a man over the edge than the knowledge that he is to be used as a walking transfusion."

"Really? I mean, I know she's irritating, but can she really be as bad as all that?"

"No, no, of course not," Draco conceded. "She's worse._ And_ her parents are Death Eaters."

Harry burst out laughing. "Oh God…"

"Yes, and she's absolutely convinced that if she pesters me enough I'll eventually give in and agree to marry her and together we'll be some super-significant power-duo under Voldemort."

"Really?" Harry chuckled.

"Unfortunately so," the blonde boy nodded. "But I won't give in. She'd be heartbroken to know-" he halted suddenly and glanced at Harry. "Well, she'd just be heartbroken."

There was an awkward moment when Harry was sure he could feel the air crackling with tension, but finally he said: "Draco, can I ask you something?" 

"No."

"Oh… um…"

"Don't be an idiot, of course you can," he smirked, giving Harry the tiniest of shoves on the shoulder.

"Oh. Right, cool. Um, I was just kind of wondering whether you're _actually_ gay… I mean, you obviously don't have to be gay just because… um…_y'know_… so I was just sort of curious…"

Carefully, the other boy lifted himself to sit on the windowsill. He didn't say anything.

"Draco? Look, you don't have to answer if that's too personal, I mean, I was just being nosy-"

"The honest answer?" Draco interrupted, sounding as though he was answering against his better judgement.

"If you don't mind telling me…"

"The honest answer is that I don't know."

"You mean you haven't decided? I suppose you could be bisexual – there are plenty of people who are…"

"No, I mean I've never felt anything for… well, for anyone that wasn't you."

"Really?" Harry asked in amazement, a reluctant form of pride welling up inside him. "Wow."

Making a valiant attempt at humour, Draco suggested: "I suppose it makes me _Harry_sexual." 

Harry gave a small, polite laugh. _Oh God… did he have to put it like that? This is so, so weird already. _"Well," said Harry uncomfortably, "that wasn't the answer I was expecting by a long shot…"

"Well don't panic, I do not plan to molest you now any more than I did yesterday," the other boy told him, defensiveness only partially disguising the anxiety in his voice. He was deeply wishing he'd never said anything.

"Draco, you don't need to keep jumping to defend yourself all the time," Harry told him softly. "I asked, didn't I? It's flattering – I just feel bad for you."

Draco narrowed his eyes. "I don't need your pity."

"I know you don't. It's not pity, it's more like empathy."

"Expert in unrequited love, are you?" Draco snapped, "Because you don't seem to know much about it."

"No, I'm not an expert. I've never… y'know – I've never been _in love_. I've had crushes on people who were horribly out of my league, but I've never been in love, no…"

"I know you're out of my league, Potter, there's no need to highlight the fact."

"That's not what I said, either-"

"You look down on me. You always have done, and after all, why not? I'm only the Malfoy boy, after all."

"I do _not_ look down on you at all, you're just not-"

"Good enough for you?"

"You're just not my _type_!" Harry said, much more loudly and forcefully than he'd intended. A deathly silence fell upon the room. Draco looked absolutely thunderstruck. Carefully, he twisted sideways on the windowsill and turned to gaze through the glass.

"Draco?"

"Leave me alone, Potter."

"Look, I'm sorry…"

"I. Don't. Need. Your. Pity."

"Draco…"

"I thought I told you to leave me alone?"

"Don't feel bad about it-"

"_What?_" Draco asked in disbelief. " 'Don't feel bad about it'?" He mimicked Harry's voice as he continued, "I cannot believe you just told me 'not to feel bad about it'." 

"Well you shouldn't-"

"What you don't understand, _Potter_, is that not being good enough I can do something about – I can change, I could prove to you that I'm better than you realise – but not being 'your type' I can't alter. There's nothing I can do about being me." The blonde boy's voice shook on the last word and Harry felt worse than ever. He wanted to cry with shame.

__

You cannot blame yourself for what you don't feel. It's not your problem…

-But it is. God knows it is…

"All I can say is that I'm sorry," Harry told him, feeling slightly choked, "and if I can only offer friendship then… I'll make sure it's worth it. I'm sorry…" He hesitated for a moment as Draco continued to stare through the glass, then turned and left the classroom.

When Harry stumbled through the portrait hole he expected the room to be deserted. In a large armchair in front of the dying fire sat Hermione, curled up in a ball, chewing the skin on the edge of her thumb, anxiously.

"Harry?" she asked as he climbed in, "Where have you been?"

"Around…" Harry muttered, swallowing hard.

"What's the matter? Is Malfoy alright? Nothing has happened, has it?" she said fretfully, climbing out of her chair and hurrying over to him.

"He's alright…" Harry said quietly, allowing her to take both his hands.

"Then what's the matter? You seem dreadfully upset."

"It's a long story…"

"Come on, sit down and tell me," she prompted, tugging him over to a sofa and making him sit down. She sat down beside him and tucked her legs under her gown. "It's obviously something to do with Malfoy… That is where you've been, isn't it?"

"His name's Draco, Hermione," Harry told her wearily, taking off his glasses and rubbing his closed eyes.

"Alright, so what's the matter with him, then?"

Harry couldn't find the words to answer at first. He just leaned his head back against the seat and pulled a nearby cushion onto his lap. "You mustn't tell Ron," he said finally, stroking the tassels on the cushion flat against his leg. "You mustn't tell anyone…"

"Why not?" Hermione asked curiously.

"Because he would give Draco such a hard time about it and I know he couldn't face that…"

"About what, Harry?"

"Promise me, Hermione."

"Alright, I promise."

Harry took a very deep breath and closed his eyes once more. "There's more to this whole thing than I told you yesterday…"

"What do you mean?"

"Draco does have another reason for warning me about Voldemort."

Hermione made a small noise in her throat that Harry had long-since some to understand meant 'I knew it.' "And what is this reason?"

"He…" Harry drew another long breath, "he _likes_ _me_, Hermione…"

"He likes you," she echoed flatly.

Harry nodded, slowly.

"What do you mean, he 'likes you'?" 

Harry was sure she knew but wanted to believe it wasn't true. "He _likes_ me – as in… is in love with me."

"_He's in_ _love with you?_" Hermione repeated, aghast.

Harry simply continued to nod.

"Well, what are you going to do about it? And why are you so upset?" she demanded, some of her compassion dissipating.

"What _can_ I do? I just keep hurting him – I keep saying things that really upset him, and you know what he's like when he's upset-"

"No, actually, I don't. All I know of Malfoy is that he is cold, emotionless and cruel," she replied stiffly.

"Hermione!" Harry cried softly, "Hermione, you don't understand – he's extremely messed up, terrible things have happened to him – the only thing he's had to cling on to is _me_. And I keep hurting him… I feel really terrible about it. He begins to open up and tell me things he's probably kept bottled up for years and I open my stupid mouth and say something thoughtless which really, _really_ hurts him." He leaned forward and put his head in his hands. "I know he's been a really horrible person, but most of it because he's just jealous of you and Ron. He hates me because I refused his friendship and completely trampled on his self-esteem and because _I'm_ the one who makes him feel so bad about himself…"

Hermione looked at him in a mixture of shock and confusion. "Harry, did Malfoy tell you all this?"

"More or less… some of it you can just tell from the things he says and does. I feel sorry for him… I really want to help him, Hermione."

Hermione listened to what her friend was saying with growing disquiet. This didn't seem right, somehow, for things so suddenly change after so long… "Harry, answer me truthfully, do you think you're growing to like Draco, too?"

"What? Well – well, yes, but not the same way he likes me… and that's the worst thing. That's what I told him… Why he was so upset when I left…" Harry admitted.

"He was upset?"

"Yeah… _really_ upset. He got all snappy and told me to leave him alone. I wish I'd never raised the issue in the first place. It was a stupid thing to do. I don't want to hurt him any more than he already has been… I keep telling him he can trust me, and look what I do when he does!"

"Harry, just because Draco Malfoy claims to be in love with you it doesn't mean you have to be on tenterhooks all the time. That's no way to live! You have to carry on as normal. What are you going to do if things go well with Gavin? Put him off and be miserable simply to save Malfoy the heartache? You'd be a fool to, you know that…" She reached out and pulled him into a hug, stroking his wild hair gently. "You're too kind, Harry, too forgiving. Malfoy has spent years making you unhappy – you don't need to jump to his beck and call now, you really don't."

"I promised to be his friend," Harry told her, quietly. "He's all alone – he's pulling away from the Slytherins because most of them are in league with the Dark through their families and he doesn't want anything to do with it. I know how he's been, and maybe his excuses are a bit feeble, but he's trying hard to change towards _me_ at the very least – or maybe I'm just seeing another side of him – but the Draco Malfoy I spoke to yesterday and tonight is different to the nasty little rich kid who called you and Ron names."

Hermione gave a heavy sigh and eased him off her shoulder. "Harry, you are my best friend and I will stand by you whatever you decide to do, but it will take considerably more than a few crocodile tears and confessions of love for me to accept that Draco Malfoy has changed. Leopards don't change their spots, do they?" She stretched out her legs and stood up. "I'm going to bed, and you should be, too. Don't worry yourself about him, Harry."

"I can't help it. He was even quite protective of Moony; he thinks exactly what I did when I first found out Snape was making him potions – that he's probably trying to poison him. He doesn't know Snape's on our side and he thinks Snape's gonna hand him back to his father or something!" He looked up at the girl, green eyes wide. "He needs us. Not just me – _us_. Please, Hermione…"

"Oh Harry, what can Ron or I do? You know as well as I do that Malfoy wouldn't accept our help, even if we gave it."

"You seemed to care enough about whether he was ill or dead or not, though…"

"Whether he is alive and whether he is feeling sorry for himself are two very different matters, Harry."

"So? Either way he has no one!"

Hermione bit her lip and scrutinised him for a moment. "If it means this much to you I will be civil to him. I can't speak for Ron, though, and it doesn't mean I'll become a friend to him – but then I very much doubt that Malfoy would agree to that, anyway. I'm doing this because _you_ asked me, Harry, not for Malfoy's sake. Goodnight."

~*~

In a classroom on the other side of the school Draco Malfoy still sat on the rounded stone windowsill. His elbows were rested on his knees and his hands were pressed into his cheeks as he watched the ancient stone of the window grow wet with his own tears.


	6. Chapter VI It May Be Quite Simple

****

Chapter ~ VI

It May Be Quite Simple

__

"If you're thinking of me you've got to let me know…" Dodgy

****

The week seemed to go by quite slowly to Harry, but then, he supposed, things always did when you were either thoroughly bored or looking forward to something, and he'd spent most of it gazing into space daydreaming about a certain Ravenclaw. He knew so because Ron had rather helpfully insisted on pointing it out at every possible opportunity. In fact, he'd gone so far as taking a very wonky, slightly out of focus picture of him doing so with Colin's camera. The picture's haplessly taken quality made it even more surreal and having to look at his own silly smile on the notice board every day made him feel like a prize pillock.

It didn't help that Gavin had made a habit of running up to Harry in the corridors, lifting him off his feet, doing a half-turn and putting him down facing in the other direction before scarpering – usually stopping at the other end of the corridor to yell "See ya later, 'Arry!" with a broad grin and leaving Harry a fetching shade of pink. Hermione thought it was "terribly sweet", Ron thought it was side splittingly funny and Draco seemed to breathe napalm at the very sight of the beaming Welsh lad. Harry had tried several times to speak to the evidently very unhappy Slytherin, but Draco had taken to blanking him – staring at him expressionlessly and walking away – and the only time Harry had heard him speak all week was when he'd witnessed one of Gavin's silly moments and launched into a venomous tirade about people who couldn't act their age. It concerned him, a little, as he wasn't entirely sure that the other boy was sufficiently stable emotionally, and it crossed his mind more than once that Draco's reasons for his attempt at suicide may shift somewhat if he reached a low enough ebb. Harry wasn't sure what to do about it, so he vowed to watch and wait and just cross each bridge as he came to it. He'd messed things up for Draco quite enough for the time being. He really didn't want to push it.

In contrast, the practise, held on the Friday evening, went rather well. Gavin brought his broom along and taught Ron a few nifty little tricks. Ron, needless to say, decided he'd found a new best friend. The twins already vaguely knew the Ravenclaw through his older brother, Jack, who they seemed to see fairly regularly in detention, and all in all the team accepted the visitor fairly easily. It was a relief to see that Gavin was giving something back to the Gryffindors for their help as Angelina and the twins had all been fairly hard to persuade. The new team members, Martin Poacher – a third year who Fred and George kept calling Pheasant – and the cocksure second year, Sam Knox-Croft, didn't have much of an opinion on the matter, even though they'd been consulted and had said it was up to the others. 

Harry was growing to like Gavin more and more with everything he did; racing Fred and George to the forest and back (but only just winning by about half a broom), taking over as keeper while Ron and the others helped Martin and Sam practise chasing, laughing heartily when George called him a "sheep-loving Taff" and responding with:

"Yeah, man, we shag 'em an' then you eat 'em!" before making a preposterous joke about four sheep tied to a lamppost in Cardiff. Harry liked watching the way his cheeks filled with colour and made him look so healthy and alive and the way is hair flicked out in the breeze and the way he tucked it back into place behind his ears.

As they headed back into the changing rooms, Gavin fell into step with Harry. "Tha' were really brilliant," he grinned, patting him on the back, "I really 'preciate you doin' tha' for me. You should come along t' one of ours or somethin'…"

"Oh, er… thanks, but it's nothing," Harry replied, blushing and watching his feet trample the neat grass.

"No, it's not 'nothin'', it's really kind an' I'm lookin' forward to meetin' up wi' you t'morrow," Gavin said, stopping outside the changing rooms. "I reckon you're pretty cool, see… I mean, for a saviour of all men an' all that," he added, brown eyes twinkling with mirth. "But if you turn up t'morrow wearing a spandex jumpsuit an' y'pants over y'trousers I migh' 'av t'change me mind a bit…"

Harry laughed bashfully and promised not to.

"Good, right, well I'll catch you in th' mornin', prob'ly, otherwise in th' Lobby 'fore we go. See ya…"

"Bye, Gavin…"

He paused to watch him go and was embarrassed but pleased when Gavin turned and saw him still standing there and waved at him, grinning merrily. Harry jumped as a voice behind him declared:

"_You_, Harry, are well in."

Harry turned to Ron, blushing even pinker, "Were you standing behind there all the time?" he demanded, gesturing to the curtains at the entrance of the changing rooms.

"Yeah."

"You ear wigging git!"

"Only got your best interests at heart. Very interesting interests, too."

Harry gave him a small shove and glanced off after Gavin, now little more than a stick figure, climbing the steps into the castle. "Do you think so?"

"Yeah, course I do! And it's not as if anyone's ever seen him with a girl or anything… well, I haven't, anyway," Ron shrugged.

"I s'pose not, no," Harry nodded, looking up to the castle again, but Gavin was gone.

"Oh stop mooning over him and get changed, you soppy, lovesick tart!" Ron teased and dragged him into the changing rooms.

The next morning Harry woke up at a shocking hour, every nerve in his body doing a reckless conga and his stomach tying itself in a cat's cradle. He lay for a while, staring at the blue sky outside the window; it was going to be a nice day. 

At half past seven he clambered out of the snug bundle of blankets and made his way up two floors to the showers. The window opposite the bathroom door looked out over the forest and distant mountains. For one very long moment Harry felt entirely at peace with the world, as though the gods were smiling down on him and everything was completely perfect. Grinning to himself, he turned to head into the bathroom, caught his toe on the step, lurched forward, dropped his towel and robes, and fell into the door, bashing his face on the handle as he did so.

After a few minutes of rolling around on the cold flagstones, clutching his face and groaning, Harry staggered to his feet and made his way to the row of sinks. The mirror made a loud wincing noise and chortled, "Oooh, that's going to be a real shiner when it comes up, son."

"Thanks," Harry muttered, holding a cupped hand of cold water up to his eye. When he looked in the mirror he found it hadn't been wrong. On his right cheek and eyebrow was a dark red mark that he could actually _see_ spreading around his face. Harry closed his eyes. _Bollocks._

When he returned to the dorm, clutching a wet flannel to his swelling eye, the other boys were just beginning to stir. Ron lifted his head wearily, complained about the noise and flopped back down on his pillow. A second later he was sitting bolt upright in bed, gaping at Harry as he dabbed morosely at his bruises.

"What on _Earth_ have you done?" he demanded in a horrified whisper.

"Tripped up the step in the showers…"

"Sweet Mary!" Seamus exclaimed as he opened his curtains, "That's gonna be the best black eye I' seen since me nanna clocked me grandpa wit' the rolling pin! Dean, come and look what Harry's done!"

"God, that's _nasty_, Harry!" Dean agreed, peering at him with interest, "You wanna get some ice on it quick, you know…"

"Where from?" Harry asked irritably.

"Well, Hermione might know some kind of charm or something," Ron suggested, climbing out of bed and picking up his tatty dressing robe.

"Not going to go completely though, is it?" Harry complained.

"Well I'm sure Gavin won't mind all that much if that's what you're bothered about," Ron retorted impatiently.

"Ron!"

"What? Why would Gavin Cross be bothered?" Seamus asked immediately.

"Er…"

"Don't mind him… Ron's just being an idiot," Harry told them quickly, aiming a kick at the red-haired boy in annoyance.

"Whyyyyy?"

"Look – it's nothing, _really_. Just ignore him." _Please,_ Harry prayed silently, _please let them drop it…_

"Crikey, Harry – anyone would think you fancied him or something! Why would it matter?"

Harry felt the colour rising in his face and bit his lip. "It… well, it _doesn't_…"

The Irish boy gave first a gasp and then a squeal of delight. "Oh my God! Harry! You _do_, don't you? Harry – are you-? No way!" Seamus bounced up and down on his bed in delirious excitement. "HARRY'S GAY! HARRY'S GAY! HARRY'S GAY!!"

"Oh shut up Seamus, he never said that…" Dean muttered, throwing his pillow at the Irish boy. "But – I mean, you _aren't_, though, Harry… are you?" 

Harry turned so red the bruising on his face was almost camouflaged, and he began to stammer in embarrassment.

"TOLD YOU SO!" Seamus yelled in delight.

Dean sounded slightly more insistent about it this time; "Harry, is he right or not?"

Harry began to ask if it mattered but gave up, realising he didn't want to know because he didn't think he could face the answers yet. With a glance at Ron, who looked away guiltily and rolled his robe over his arm, Harry nodded. There was a minute's silence before Neville's quiet voice piped up:

"Well I think you're brave…" Four pairs of eyes turned to him and he blushed almost as red as Harry. "I mean, I would have pretended I wasn't in case people were horrible to me about it. Harry's very brave admitting it."

"No one's going to be horrible, Neville – this is _Harry Potter_!" Seamus replied, as though anything Harry did was acceptable because he was the Boy Who Lived. "I think it's pretty cool."

Dean said nothing. He merely stood up and picked up his wash things before leaving the room. Harry watched despondently and sat down very heavily on his bed.

"What's his problem?" Ron demanded.

"I think that's a bit obvious, Ron, even for you..." Harry sighed.

"You reckon Dean's got a problem with you being gay?" the ginger boy asked in disbelief. "I always thought Dean was alright…"

"Hey – Dean _is_ alright!" Seamus protested, "Just lemme talk to him. He'll be okay, Harry, don't you worry."

"Thanks…" Harry muttered. "You won't tell anyone else, will you?"

"No, no, no, you don't out someone else," Seamus said matter-of-factly, "My second cousin's gay and he told me that once: you don't out someone else." Harry felt this was a little ironic coming from the boy who had just jumped on his bed yelling 'Harry's gay!' but he said nothing, glad that at least they hadn't completely freaked out. 

Nonetheless, it was a considerably less buoyant Harry Potter that traipsed down to breakfast at nine o'clock. Hermione was causing a great deal of fuss about his black eye, trying to persuade him to go and see Madam Pomfrey in case he had concussion or something, and Harry was carefully trying to zone her out while still giving the appearance of listening. As they made to enter the Hall, Harry was so busy pretending not to ignore Hermione that he almost jumped out of his skin when he found himself face to face with Draco, who was about to walk through the doors at the same time. The blond boy did a double take and stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes slightly widened and his face registering the barest touch of alarm. Harry looked away and passed through the doors without acknowledging him; he really wasn't in the mood for the sulky prat today.

Things didn't get any better when he sat down. Half the table started making a fuss and whispering and Sirius, who was for some reason having breakfast in the school instead of at home (and, now Harry thought about it, he had done so for the past week), came down and asked what the hell he'd done to himself. When Gavin walked in Sirius was still sitting sideways on the bench beside him, but the sixth year strode up to him nonetheless and asked if he was alright. Blushing, Harry said that he was fine and he'd explain later. Gavin didn't seem convinced he was and suggested he go and see Madam Pomfrey, just as Hermione had.

"Honestly, Gavin, I'm fine, I just had a fight with a step and a door handle, that's all…"

"Well…" Gavin began dubiously, "If you so much as go cross-eyed t'day I'm goin' t' drag you all the way there. An' tha's a _promise_. Anyway, better dash, see you a bit later, a'right?"

"Yeah, see ya later…"

Sirius watched the exchange with interest (as, in fact, did the fifth year boys), "When did you start hanging around with Ravenclaws?" he asked, following the boy with his eyes as he went to sit down at his own table.

"Oh it's a long story…" Harry shrugged, shooting Seamus a dirty look as he fluttered his eyelashes at him.

"Well I'm not going anywhere," Sirius said, making himself comfortable and taking Harry's coffee out of his hand, "Take your time."

"Excuse me, I was about to drink that!"

"Yeah well, have some pumpkin juice," Sirius replied, with a smirk. "So what's with the inter-House PR, then?"

"Quidditch."

"Quidditch? What do you mean, 'Quidditch'?"

"We did a kind of swap-thing. He came to watch our practice and I'm going to watch theirs."

"Fucking hell, things have changed a lot since I was here…" Sirius muttered, shaking his head. "You'd spy on someone else's practises on pain of death when I was on the team and now you're _inviting_ each other! There's something fundamentally ludicrous about that. You do realise the Quidditch Cup is meant to be a competition, don't you? You bloody Potters have always been far too accommodating. Well, just as long as you don't start helping out the Slytherins, I s'pose…"

Harry gave him an unamused look. "Why aren't you at the cottage, anyway? You've been in here for breakfast all week."

Glancing around at the students sitting nearby (and not even pretending not to listen to their conversation) Sirius stood up. "Why not?" he shrugged, putting Harry's coffee back down on the table, "You can have the rest of that – far too much sugar in it. You want to be careful Remus doesn't realise how much you have, you know, you'll get lectured for hours. Anyway, I've got things to do. I'll see you down the town, probably… Bye."

Everyone watched his tall form stride quickly from the Hall. After a moment's silence Ginny voiced exactly what the others were all thinking:

"But you don't have sugar in drinks, do you, Harry?"

Frowning, Harry shook his head.

Harry straggled behind the others again on the way back to Gryffindor Tower. He was wondering what the matter was to make Sirius leave the house so early in the morning, because Sirius always got up as late as he could get away with, usually. And then there was the fact that he had avoided answering the question altogether. Usually, if he were being evasive he'd give a really stupid answer, not just change the subject. Harry had sipped the drink afterwards – against everyone's advice, as they were all concerned it may have had something slipped into it – but there was certainly no sugar in it. In fact, Harry was so engrossed in his theories about Sirius's behaviour, that he was completely left behind and was still wandering down a first floor corridor when a slightly flushed and breathless Draco appeared in front of him.

"What happened to your face?" he demanded, as he surveyed the bruising attentively.

"I walked into a door," Harry sighed.

"Oh _really_, you could at least be imaginative with your excuses! Who _did that_ to you, Harry?"

"I told you, I hit my face on the door and I've been asked by absolutely everyone this morning, so I don't really want any more questions, thanks."

"You genuinely walked into a door?" the blond boy asked doubtfully.

"Yes. Well, technically I fell, but the main thing is – no one did it 'to' me, I did it myself by accident."

"Clumsy great idiot," Draco tutted, shaking his head and reaching out to take Harry's glasses off so he could see the damage better. For some reason unbeknownst even to himself, Harry didn't complain and looked at the ceiling while the blond boy tilted his face at various angles. "Oh well, you'll live," he shrugged at last, taking his wand out of his pocket. He handed Harry his glasses and said, "Here, hold these," then muttered an incantation and touched his wand to Harry's face. Harry felt a pleasantly cool tingling in his cheek and blinked as Draco's face assumed an expression of self-satisfaction. "There, you'll do."

"What?" Harry asked, "Have you done something to it?"

The Slytherin pulled a small mirror out of his pocket and handed it to Harry. Somehow, the fact that Draco carried a mirror around with him didn't surprise Harry one jot. But he had to hand it to him; all that was left of the black eye was a deep pink smudge high on his cheekbone.

"Thanks!" Harry grinned, looking at himself from a few angles.

"Well, you learn these things when your father's favourite penis extension has a platinum snake's head on the top and he likes to hit you with it," the blond boy explained nonchalantly, putting his wand away.

"Your dad really is an old shit, isn't he?"

"You could say that – although I'd prefer something slightly less vulgar."

"Your dad deserves vulgar, Draco."

"Hm." There was a lengthy pause before Draco suddenly looked over Harry's shoulder and snapped: "Say that again, Potter, and that'll be the last thing you do!"

Harry looked at him blankly.

"HA! Can't even think of a response to that, can you? So much for brainy Gryffindors!"

"What?"

Draco craned his neck for a minute then said: "Sorry, a bunch of Hufflepuffs just passed through the corridor."

"Oh." Harry thought about it for a second and burst into laughter, "This is so stupid…"

"Yes, well, tell Dumbledore," Draco muttered.

"I would, but he does have a point… Look, Drac, about the other day –"

"It never happened. As far as you are concerned, we never had that conversation, you understand?"

"Any of it?" Harry asked in surprise.

The blond boy made an amusingly foppish hand gesture and said, "Well, perhaps the friends part, if you'd like, but certainly not the last part."

"What last part?" Harry asked innocently.

"Precisely. Just… just don't raise the issue again if you can help it, alright?"

"Well, yeah, okay, but I am sorry, honestly. I-"

"Never happened, Potter."

"Okay, okay…"

"I had better be going before Pugsy comes to find me," Draco said, looking over his shoulder as though he suspected she might be hovering behind him. "See you around."

By half past eleven Harry was strolling down the dusty road to Hogsmeade with Gavin. The Welsh boy was chattering away ten to the dozen and Harry was listening happily, enjoying the lilting of his Valleys burr. The days were still warm, and he was only wearing jeans and a t-shirt. Draco was right, he thought, as they reached the edge of the town, it really was good to be getting out.

About a hundred yards behind them Sirius and Remus walked along in a contrasting silence. Remus seemed lost in thought and gave the impression he wouldn't notice if an army of Death Eaters danced naked in front of him, while Sirius stared after his godson and mused about the new friendship he seemed to be embarking upon. Neither of them had spoken about the incident with the photograph album and Sirius still hadn't asked Remus why he'd hidden something so important to them both. Sirius was not the sort of person to feel sorry for himself, nor to be lacking in healthy self-esteem, but he was concerned and quite embarrassed about it all. There had to be a reason Remus was ignoring the fact that they had once been much, much more than friends and the one that Sirius feared was most probable was that Remus had simply moved on. The only thing was, now Sirius knew the truth and his memories were beginning to re-emerge from the pit in which they were buried, he was actually growing to miss the relationship he'd only just realised ever existed. It seemed ironic that it had been he whom Lily had warned never to hurt Remus lest she should 'hex him to kingdom come and home again', and now, all these years later, quite the reverse was happening. Sirius was finding it incredibly difficult to bear being in Remus's presence without a barely suppressible urge to ask him straight out what he was playing at. He spent as much time as he could away from temptation, knowing his impulsiveness would fail him eventually.

Remus, on the other hand, was taking Sirius's absence as proof that he was doing the right thing. His dismay upon realising that the person he had sworn to remain faithful to until the end no longer had any clear memory of what had been, for Remus, the happiest time of his life, had been all consuming. He had kept his word, even in the years he should have believed Sirius was guilty and worthy only of his contempt, and he would continue to keep that word for as long as he drew breath. But the wild-haired young man Remus had held so dearly since his youth was, although you'd never get him to admit it, fumbling awkwardly with life neither confined to four walls, nor in hiding. Remus shuddered at the memory of finding a black shaggy dog chewing a mutilated rat on the kitchen floor – barely three weeks earlier. Sirius had passed it off with one of his broadest grins and the explanation that he had "Developed a certain taste for rustic cuisine" that was proving hard to shake. But the point was, Sirius was far from normal quite yet (if Sirius Black could ever have been called 'normal') and what he needed was a friend – someone who knew him and who would help the true Sirius shine through again, not someone who expected a return on anything they gave.

"So where we headin' to first?" Gavin asked, shoving his hands in the pockets of his black corduroys.

"Um – not bothered, really," Harry shrugged, "It's so early this year that I haven't run out of anything yet…"

"No, me neither, ach'ly," the older boy nodded thoughtfully. "Well, I s'pose we may as well go straigh' t'the pub, then – 'less you wanna visit the sweet shop or the Shriekin' Shack or somethin'…?"

Harry grinned to himself; apparently the word hadn't spread that the shrieking of the Shack was all down to one Remus Lupin and had fallen silent years ago. "Yeah, why not," he said, "I could do with a drink – it's a much longer walk when you're not taki-" _Shut up! Idiot!_

Gavin looked at him with interest, "Takin' what?"

"Oh – um, nothing, I just meant it seems shorter when I come down here with Ron and Hermione…"

"Oh – 'm I borin' you, then?" Gavin asked with a slight pout.

"NO!" Harry said quickly, turning crimson, "No, I just meant… Oh I dunno… But you're not boring, honestly!" _Please, just let the ground open up and swallow me now, _please_!_

"Tha's a'right then," he said with a small smile, "T' th' pub it is. Come on – race you!"

Harry gave a small gasp of laughter and sprinted after the taller boy, who was already a good few metres away. They dashed past other pupils, almost knocking a few third years into a ditch as they did so, haring recklessly down the uneven road through the first section of village and only stopping when they literally fell giggling against the wall of the Three Broomsticks.

"I win!" Gavin half laughed, half panted, raising a triumphant hand into the air.

"Only-"Harry puffed, "-only because you've got longer l-legs than me!"

"Oh I dunno," Gavin said with a twisted half-smile, "I reckon you got pretty good legs, myself."

Harry's mouth opened and closed like a goldfish for a moment as he watched Gavin open the door of the pub and felt his wrist tugged to lead him into the dimly lit lounge. He followed a little hesitantly, looking around at the low beams and the redbrick fireplace with its horse brasses and three broomsticks lined up above it. It was funny how you could visit a place regularly and still be completely unable to describe it in detail; how it could feel so familiar without really knowing its intricacies – the features that made it unique.

Gavin went to the bar while Harry claimed a table, one at the back of the pub away from the bustle of the main door that would open repeatedly as pupils, teachers and the odd local traipsed in. Settling down, he made himself comfortable, tugging the t-shirt he was wearing straight. It was one of the few he owned that actually fitted him properly, and that was only because he'd grown into it. He'd had it since he was about seven and the front was emblazoned with a picture of a Muggle cartoon character – He-Man – which Dean, Parvati and Lavender had insisted was "so retro and cool" that it was perfectly acceptable for a fifteen year old to wear. He'd taken their word for it as he really had no clue himself and the girls in particular always looked rather fashionable.

"One Butterbeer," Gavin said with a grin as he put the mug down on the table and slid onto the wall seat next to Harry. "By the way, your godfather's jus' turn'd up wi' Lupin."

"Has he?" Harry asked, craning his neck to see. Sure enough, Sirius and Remus both stood at the bar and he watched as they took their drinks and sat down at a table to one side of the large fireplace, almost hidden away in a corner. "Sirius is on duty today, Remus is just helping out," he shrugged, not wanting to admit that he was actually being babysat.

"Is it okay, living wi' them, then?" Gavin asked, taking a swig of his butterbeer and tilting his head slightly to one side as he waited for Harry's answer.

Harry smiled thoughtfully before saying: "No, it's not okay – it's brilliant. I had the best summer of my life this year… They really look after me and they're a good laugh. And Remus tells me things about my parents…"

"D'you not know much, then? 'Bout your parents?"

"I'm learning more and more all the time, but until I came here I thought they'd died in a car crash. Obviously, I've known the truth for a long time now, but Moony and Padfoot sort of fill in the gaps."

Gavin gave a tiny chuckle, "Who and What-foot?"

"Oh, um…" Harry blushed into his butterbeer, "Moony and Padfoot – it's their old nicknames from school."

"You call 'em by their _nicknames_?"

"Well, sometimes. They're not really like parents… well, Moony's a bit like one sometimes, but they're more like grown up friends, really. Like Hagrid," he explained, "but much closer and much better cooks…"

"Always good, that!" the Ravenclaw laughed, nudging him with his shoulder.

"I can cook myself, thanks!"

"Can you? Oh, tha's good t'know… they say th' way to a man's 'eart is through 'is stomach, don' they?"

Harry gave a strangled laugh and quickly took a long gulp of his drink. _Oh my God…_

"I never knew my parents… 'least I don' remember them."

Harry looked at the other boy in surprise; "Sorry?"

"Oh, I were jus' sayin' that I never knew my parents, either… Were lost in th' firs' war… I'm adopted, see?"

"Oh – I…oh." _Stupid, stupid, stupid! Speak like a human, not some bloody chimp!_

"I were jus' small when it 'appened, an' I were sen' off t' Wales…"

"I – um, I'm sorry to hear that, Gavin… honestly," Harry managed, tentatively reaching out and giving the other boys' wrist a little brush with his finger tips. 

"Oh – don' be! T'were a long time ago, now, an' my mum's great," he said, with a wide smile that was just slightly less bright than usual.

"Doesn't make up for it, really, though, does it?" Harry asked quietly, staring into his own drink.

"Never know, will we?"

Across the pub Sirius watched Harry and his Ravenclaw friend with mild irritation. "Does he even have _any_ clue about inter-House competitiveness?" he demanded of Remus, as the other man squinted at the small notepad on the table while working his way through a packet of peanuts.

"Hm? What, Harry?" he gave a small smile, "Not a hint."

"You'd have thought someone else would have bloody told him – the rest of the team or something. I just can't believe that he's giving lessons to other captains! Silly sodding amenable Potters."

"James would have done exactly the same," Remus muttered, turning over a page and taking a sip of his drink.

"No he wouldn't, because when we were on the team the rest of us wouldn't have been bloody thick enough to let him! And can you try and at least _pretend_ to pay attention when I'm talking at you?" he scowled, slapping Remus's fingers away from the notebook. "We were all far too dedicated, anyway – we took Quidditch as seriously as it should be."

"Really?" Remus raised an eyebrow at him and poured a few more peanuts into his palm, with a certain obstinance.

"Yes, really!"

"I seem to remember a time when James missed three practises in a row because he was too busy with Lily…"

"Oh well you would, smart arse."

Remus merely grinned and ate his peanuts.

A moment later a shadow fell across the table and Remus looked up to see two fourth year girls standing side by side in next to Sirius. He gave the other man a small prod, eliciting a look of annoyance, and nodded towards them. "Hello, girls," he said, smiling.

"Oh – good afternoon ladies," Sirius said, looking at them with slight surprise.

"Hello, Sirius," they chorused, blushing slightly.

"Having a good after time, are you?" he asked, slightly awkwardly, sounding to Remus like he either didn't know what to say or wanted to get rid of them as soon as possible.

"We've got you a present," the girl on the left said, and the other girl held out a small bag with a giggle.

Sirius merely stared at her hand and then up at the girls.

"Sirius? He's so pleased he's speechless," Remus said, smiling at them and giving Sirius a surreptitious kick under the table.

"Oh – yes, thank you… thank you very much," Sirius said after a minute, taking the bag gingerly. The girls giggled coyly and said good bye before dashing out of the pub. "Heh…" Sirius muttered, opening the bag and looking at its contents with a wry smile.

"What is it?"

"Bag full of sugar snitches… Oh! God – it was that class who I told I used to be in the Quidditch team, the other day," Sirius remembered, holding open the bag for Remus to see.

He peeped inside and looked at the tiny gold balls zipping about inside. One darted out, making a bid for freedom, only to be caught immediately by Remus's deft fingers."I always said you should have been our bloody seeker!" Sirius muttered, closing the bag quickly.

"Except I can't stand heights. There was never any point in being on the Quidditch team if I couldn't fly, was there? Talking of fear – what was the matter with you just then? You looked terrified!"

Sirius gave an exaggerated shudder and grimaced. "There's a group of girls in _every_ year that just won't leave me alone. I keep finding things on my desk…"

"Such as?"

"Such as _sweets_ and apples and bloody _flowers_!" Sirius told him, shoving the bag into his pocket.

"Oh how adorable!" Remus laughed, releasing the sweet for some lucky pupil to catch. He picked up his drink again, returning his attention to his notebook. "You always were popular with the girls…"

Sirius gave a sly smirk; "Not just the girls, eh?"

Remus's drink crashed loudly onto the table and poured its contents onto floor.

Harry looked up as some kind of commotion stirred up on the other side of the room. He was still laughing uncontrollably at Gavin's impression of Filch, and Gavin was leaning his forehead on Harry's shoulder, laughing just as hard. He was having such a good time, Gavin was so much fun; he was already dreading the prospect of having to head back to the school because it would mean that he wouldn't be able to spend any more time with the engaging young Ravenclaw. "Wassaht my prit-ee? Two sevehnff yeeers cawltin' in th' Stronomy Towah? Lead the way, prit-ee."

Both boys collapsed into a second wave of giggles, and Harry was somewhat startled when Gavin sank down sideways until his head rested in Harry's lap, still cackling hysterically. Harry tugged at his hair playfully and brushed it out of his face, giggling more as Gavin blew an errant strand out of the way languidly. He was so very tempted to just lean down and brush his lips against the stretch of perfectly smooth skin where Gavin's dark hair met his forehead, but as soon as the idea crossed his mind a small (but very vociferous) voice started screaming not to dare be so stupid. _What are you even thinking, you big idiot? Don't you dare. Don't you _dare_ make such a prat of yourself! _A pair of brown eyes were suddenly staring up at him and a soft, rosy cheek was resting against the hand he had used to brush the other boy's hair out of his face. 

"What on Earth are you doing? You were laughing like a lunatic!"

Harry's breath caught in his chest as he raised his eyes once more and found Draco standing directly in front of them. It was as though a gust of cold wind had blown in, even though the weather outside was warm and sunny. The blonde boy looked at him with bemusement. He was almost smiling, seeming genuinely amused by the state Harry was in. The hint of a smile was eradicated immediately as Gavin sat up and glanced uneasily at Harry, tucking his hair behind his ear nervously, as though having only just remembered quite how public a place they were in.

"Wha' d'you want, Malfoy?" Gavin asked, swallowing and benefiting him with a look of annoyance.

"Oh, I'm so very _sorry_ for interrupting your frivolous little game there, Cross," he sneered, his silver eyes taking on an almost green-ish hue that Harry had never seen before. "I didn't realise _Potter _had company," he fixed the icy stare on Harry, "If I had known I would have stayed _well_ away."

"Well why don' you jus' piss off, then, eh?" Gavin suggested austerely, picking up his butterbeer and casting Draco a look almost as chilling back. "Harry don' need your snotty little nose pokin' in where it's no' wanted. 'Aven't you got any friends t' show off to?"

"I don't take orders from _you_, Cross – I don't take orders from anyone."

"Is tha' right, is it? See, tha's not what I 'eard," Gavin said, leaning across the table and speaking in a low voice, "I 'eard tha' you're so good at takin' orders tha' You-Know-Who 'as got you down for a very special _position_, if you catch my meanin'. When you leave 'ere, I 'eard you're so good a' _suckin'_ up to 'im tha' you're gonna take over _that _role from your mother…"

The moment the words had left Gavin's mouth every lamp and candle in the room flared up twice as bright and the unlit hearth was suddenly filled with roaring flames, which startled Remus so much he leapt out of his chair and practically fell onto Sirius to steady himself. Harry didn't know where to look; Draco's face was frozen in an expression of such pure rage that he was almost frightened of what the blond boy was about to do. His eyes flickered over to Harry and Harry quickly cast his eyes to the floor. When they flicked back to the Slytherin he had looked back to Gavin. Very slowly, Draco leaned forward and almost whispered in the older boy's ear: "If that's the case, _Cross_, you'd better learn to be a little more careful what you say about me. Who knows what might happen if you don't?"

With that he glanced at Harry once more and knocked the nearest drink off the table, directly into Gavin's lap. A moment later he was gone.

Sirius and Remus looked at each other as a flash of silver blond passed them and in a split second a mutual agreement was made and Sirius was on his feet and half way to the door while Remus headed over to where Harry sat with a very pale Gavin. Draco hadn't had time to get far when Sirius caught up with him. The Slytherin hadn't even realised he was behind him until a large hand clamped itself around his arm and spun him around to face its owner. 

"WHAT THE _FUCK_ DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?" Sirius bellowed, blue eyes flashing menacingly. "HAVE YOU ANY IDEA HOW DANGEROUS THAT WAS? YOU COULD HAVE HAD THE WHOLE BLOODY PLACE UP IN A PUFF OF SMOKE YOU STUPID, _STUPID_ CHILD! TWENTY POINTS FROM SLYTHERIN FOR BEING AN IMBECILIC LITTLE PRAT! NO – _FIFTY_ POINTS!"

Draco tried to wrench his arm out of Sirius' grip and turn away, but he was holding on too tight. "Let me go," he hissed, continuing to struggle.

"I don't think so, kid," Sirius replied, still fuming, "You're coming with me and I seriously don't think you'll be seeing this place again this year."

"Well that's just typical of you, isn't it, Black? Never bother to find out what's going on before you jump in with both boots!" He wrenched again at his arm. Several people had now stopped and were watching the skirmish with delight.

"Alright, Malfoy – explain. And none of your crap; just tell me what happened so I can get you back to the school."

"It wasn't my fault," Draco told him, writhing slightly to try and break his grip.

"Bollocks wasn't it! You know as well as I do that you were responsible for what just happened in there, now you can either tell me now and get off a bit lighter, or I can drag you kicking and screaming up to the school if that's what it's going to take."

"It was Cross – he – ow! Get off me! He was saying things about my mother and it made me angry – will you get off? That _hurts_!"

Sirius loosened his grip a fraction and realised, to his horror, that the boy seemed almost to have tears in his eyes. "Malfoy are you-" he looked around at the gathering crowd, "Alright you little vultures, piss off, go on!" Most of the kids looked around at each other and began to slope off reluctantly. "OI! What are you still doing here? Shift – NOW!" he yelled at some sniggering sixth years nearby. They left, scowling, in the direction of the joke shop and Sirius turned back to Draco. "Right, so what happened?"

"I told you, Cross made me angry and – I didn't _mean_ to do it, it just happened. Go on, give me detention, take away my Hogsmeade privileges – I couldn't care less anyway."

Sirius's temper was mellowing rather quickly and he couldn't help but pick up a tone of actual anxiety in the boy's voice. "What did he do to make you angry?" he asked, crouching slightly so he was more or less on a level with the tiny fifth year.

"He implied my mother is Voldemort's courtesan. In fact he more or less said it directly."

_Ah. No wonder the poor little bastard's pissed off._ "What did you do to Cross?"

"Nothing! I just went to say hello to Harry and –" he hesitated for a second, tempted to make allusions to what may have been going on under the table, just to pay Harry back for letting the stupid, long-haired idiot talk to him in such a way. "-I went to say hello to Harry because I didn't realise Cross was there and Cross told me to piss off, alright? All I did was be there."

"Malfoy, you know Dumbledore wants you to keep your distance from Harry-"

"Dumbledore or you?"

"Well, actually both of us, now you come to mention it, but you know full bloody well that you shouldn't have started speaking to him in the first place!" He lowered his voice slightly, "How are you expecting us to help you if you won't follow our instructions?"

"Just leave me alone." Draco finally managed to wrench his arm from Sirius's grip, only to find both wrists caught instead.

"Listen to me, Malfoy, if you can do that sort of thing by accident you have got to learn to control it. Dumbledore is trying to sort it out, now you're going to have to help us to help you. Stop making it hard for yourself. _Don't _approach Harry in public, because you've seen what happens. I'll talk to Harry about it, get his side of the story and then…" he gave the boy an appraising look, "Just leave it to me and Remus, alright? We're trying to help you, so stop fucking everything up." He let the boy's wrists go. "Go on, kid… bugger off."

Remus met him at the door of the Three Broomsticks; he'd been watching the scene from afar and was on the brink of going and breaking it up. "You really shouldn't have touched him, Sirius," he said, shaking his head, "He could have you arrested for assault for you just did."

"He won't, Moo, don't worry about it. That kid's got problems, though… got a real obsession with Harry, I think."

Remus looked at him with wide eyes; "Pardon?"

"He's a bit fixated on Harry – won't accept that he can't be seen talking to him."

"I expect it's hard for him," the other man said, watching as the blond boy disappeared into the distance, "He's turned to Harry because he's got no one else and we're telling him he can't. It's a bit harsh, isn't it?"

Sirius winced, slightly; "I know. And look, I know we can't just let them be best mates and go running all over the shop as if they've been friends from the off, but the poor little sod's probably feeling like shit-"

"I know," Remus murmured, nodding slightly. _You think we should get Harry to keep an eye on him, don't you?_

Could it hurt?

Harry's a good kid. He can cope.

They both nodded to show their agreement. 

"I'll get back up to the school and tell Dumbledore, then," Sirius sighed, ruffling a hand through his own shaggy hair, "And do me a favour, Moo – next time you want to sit on my lap, ask first."

Draco stormed away from the confrontation with Sirius feeling as though the whole world was pitted against him. He was striding so fiercely that within a hundred yards his ankles were actually aching. He slowed down and forced himself to control his breathing; throwing tantrums wasn't going to get him anywhere. None the less, he gave a sharp kick to an unfortunate squirrel that scampered through his path as he reached the end of the main street and approached the wooded stretch that bordered the Forbidden Forest. He turned off the road and began to climb up the slope towards the Shrieking Shack, knowing that very few people actually ventured there.

Making his way for a heavily wooded section of land, he found a fallen tree, which he cleared with a simple spell that was too insignificant to get himself expelled from school (not that he was altogether bothered at that point in time) and sat down upon, leaning his head against a protruding broken branch. He hated Sirius Black. _Hated_ him. It was just like a Gryffindor to yell first and ask questions later, sounding his great big mouth off and refusing to apologise when it turned out he was wrong. And Black, of course, the Light's precious freedom fighting anti-hero martyr with his stupid leather Muggle clothes and his famous flying motorbike, was the very epitome of Gryffindor. Brave, rash, honourable, determined, _tactless, stupid, insane_… Draco despised Gryffindors more as he thought about how very well _Black _suited the house. He'd like to flatten him with his own flaming motorcycle. That would teach him.

Draco pulled his cigarettes from his pocket and slipped one into his mouth. This was the penultimate packet, he'd have to brew some more Duplication Serum soon, create some more. Looking at the nearly empty pack reminded him of Harry and the night in the Arithmancy classroom; the way Harry had panicked when Draco had flicked the flame around his fingers. He lit the cigarette and repeated the action with his fingertips. The tiny flame effortlessly passed from one to the next leaving no trace or even heat. In fact, to Draco it felt only as though a small animal was licking his hands, like the baby rabbit he and his grandmother had rescued when he was small. It had always licked his hands and his grandmother had said it was because it liked the salty taste. Draco had giggled, his four-year-old mind finding it hard to comprehend that he tasted like salt. He didn't taste like salt! He tasted like _Draco,_ of course!

__

Don't do this to yourself, Draco, don't get yourself upset.

I can't help it… I miss her…

You'll have your revenge one day. On Cross, too. You'll show him who Harry belongs to.

Belongs? He doesn't belong_ to me…_

Not yet, perhaps; but he could. You could fight for him. You have to.

- I will not fight for anyone_. I am not degrading myself to that level!_

You never fight to win anything, do you? You just to lash out against what you can't have, because you're too weak to take it with your own hands. You're pathetic.

Just shut up!

Isn't it true? You know it is… You need to show him, Draco. Show him how much more you deserve him. If you do, of course…

- Of course I deserve him! I told you, I'll prove it.

Of course you will, and when you make your best impression Harry will still pick Cross. What will you do, then, Malfoy_? What will you do?_

He won't choose Cross, he'll choose me. I know he will.

Well let's hope for Cross's sake that he does. It would be such a terrible shame if something happened to him, wouldn't it?

Draco sat up sharply. He was _not_ going to think like that; he wouldn't start wishing people dead – it was far too dangerous. What had happened in the Three Broomsticks had startled him as much as it had everyone else. Of course, he'd got angry in the past and made lights flare – that was nothing – but the raging fire in hearth had been something altogether new. And that hadn't been all; he'd seen something in Cross's eyes - a reflection of himself – and it had been flaming green. But he knew that was impossible. He knew he hadn't engulfed himself because not only would he have felt it, but the reaction in the pub would have been far greater. People would have been screaming and panicking and he would probably have been proclaimed some sort of demon working on Voldemort's behalf. But there was really very little that was new to that theory.

So what had happened? Why had he seen himself engulfed in flames in the Ravenclaw's eyes and why had the flames been green? He didn't understand. He wanted to tell Harry. The thought brought him back to his confrontation with the other boy's godfather and how the fool had essentially told him to stay away from Harry. _Stay away? Does he actually think I have that much of a choice in the matter?_ He didn't have a choice, because it was being around Harry that made him want to carry on existing. The week he'd spent ignoring him – trying to block him out and convince himself he didn't need the Boy Wonder to keep him going – had been such a trial that he had felt physically exhausted at the end of it. Seeing Harry with his face all bruised that morning had just broken his resolve into pieces and he hadn't been able to stop himself chasing after the Gryffindor when there was the slightest chance he might be able to catch him alone. He had been weakened by it. _Just like Daddy said, isn't that right, Draco? _Just being around Harry the few times he had been recently was wearing him down. Harry couldn't even see it, but he was placing everything at the oblivious fool's feet and the careless idiot was tripping over it as he ambled on through everything. He'd never say it to Harry's face, but he would literally give his Life – do the very thing he was attempting to run from – if it would save the Gryffindor from Voldemort; if it would save him from anything. He would do that for him because he loved him, and yet Harry had just let the stupid Welsh oaf say those things to him without saying a word to defend him. He'd just sat there and let it go on – even knowing all that he did about Draco's situation. _Spineless prat. Wouldn't dare say anything civil about me in public, would you? So much for your brave Gryffindor heart, Harry. It's all so sodding easy for you! You were _always_ on the right side… You didn't have to choose. Didn't have to _decide_ to give up everything… Follow what they want so blindly, like a good little Headmaster's pet. Little lap dog._ He tossed his cigarette butt onto the ground and stamped on it hard. Someone needed to show Harry how to break the rules they weren't _expecting_ him to break.

Sirius shifted his weight awkwardly from foot to foot as he stood on the threshold of Dumbledore's office, waiting for the old man to return. No matter how many times he'd been in there as an adult – as a teacher with perfectly innocent reason – he couldn't shake the feeling of impending doom in the way of detracted points or nightly detentions. It was a long, long time since he'd stood in front of Dumbledore's desk with Snape, Remus and James and been told his future at the school was in serious danger. He hadn't meant it… not the way it turned out… he hadn't been thinking… he just wanted Snape to see – to realise he couldn't treat Remus like that – he'd just wanted Remus to fight back for once… that was all… 

He shook his head violently. That was one of the memories that they had tortured him with in Azkaban… and the sight of Remus's pale green eyes streaming with unhindered tears in the Entrance Hall as Sirius was sent home on indefinite suspension. Remus had insisted on going down to see him leave, even though he had been hidden away in the hospital wing all weekend, but he hadn't said a single word; he'd just stood and watched as Sirius's mother and father led him away. It was only the second time he'd seen Remus cry; the first had been when his father died. Sirius didn't know at the time whether the tears were because he wasn't sure if Sirius would ever be back at the school or whether he just felt so desperately let down by his closest friend. Sirius had never really forgiven himself, even long after Remus swore he had. It was a memory comparable to the moment he'd landed at the crumbled shell of Godric's Hollow and Hagrid had refused to let him take Harry. He had failed James and they wouldn't even let him take on his duty – to carry out the promise he'd made to him just months earlier – and do the only thing he could possibly think of to try and make up for his stupidity. He should never have made the change. James hadn't even wanted to, he had said he trusted Sirius with his life, with his family's lives. Sirius had failed the one other person who meant everything to him and he had to do something to make it right or he would go completely insane. If only he had never gone after Peter… if Hagrid had let him take Harry straight to Remus, because he knew, then, he knew that Remus had always been as loyal and true to the Marauders as he always had been… it wasn't his Moony… it was Peter – it had always been Peter…if only he had had something to do then – to give him a sense of carrying on and making up for what he had done… twelve years… all that loss… so much time wasted and Remus all alone… so alone. All he had been able to think of sometimes was whether they had found Remus and how he would cope on his own. Oh yes, Remus was strong and brave and determined, but he'd said so many times that he would be lost without the Marauders… he couldn't bear being alone, sometimes… Sirius had wondered if Mundy and Miranda would look after him. Florry was gone, killed in the raid on the Shamanic Embassy… Jennifer – sweet little 'Nifer – was 'indisposed'… Isobel had fled to the continent… no one knew where Elias was… Everyone was gone. Who would Remus turn to without them? Who would remind him to eat or listen to him when he talked about his book or his P.R.O.F. studies? He shouldn't be alone, he really shouldn't – he'd just fall apart if they left him to his own devices – he needed people … he needs…

"Sirius?"

Somewhere far away he could hear a voice, and he knew it was calling him, but it wasn't properly registering in his mind.

"Sirius…" 

A hand gently grasped his shoulder and all at once he was back in Dumbledore's office, staring into the old man's pale blue eyes, never having realised he had left the room. For a moment Sirius just blinked at the man in front of him. It always took a few moments for him to shake himself out of his regression-like daydreams; he always felt lost and agitated at first.

"I…um… s-sorry – I…"

"It's quite alright, Sirius, quite alright," Dumbledore said, patting his arm soothingly. "Do come in and sit down. Tea?"

"Er…"

"Plenty of sugar, I think."

Sirius found that he was being handed a china teacup and saucer with steaming tea in. He had no idea where it had come from and had anyone other than Dumbledore – or perhaps Remus (although the other man had recently proved he was still capable of a prank or two when he kindly laid out Sirius's toothbrush for him – with toothpaste that turned his teeth blue for three days) – given him the drink he would have carefully disposed of it when they weren't looking.

He followed the headmaster to the desk and sat down on the old sofa before it. "Now, what is the matter?"

"Draco Malfoy," Sirius answered simply.

"Ah, yes, Master Malfoy," Dumbledore said, nodding slowly. "There was an incident."

"Um – yeah. Word travels fast around here, still, doesn't it?"

Dumbledore smiled, "It is always prudent to keep one's ear to the ground, Sirius, always prudent."

Sirius smiled and nodded. _An ear? What, over the whole of Hogsmeade?_

"There was something of a brouhaha?"

"It's the pyroclasty issue. He got a bit wound up and nearly backdrafted the whole pub. I mean, it's _dangerous_ and the kid has to be taught to control it. I know you're looking for someone to train him up and everything –"

"Actually, I think I may have found someone," the old man interjected.

"Oh – well _good_! And the sooner the better because I don't fancy explaining to any distraught parents why their kids are…" he gave a small cough, "Well…"

"Indeed," Dumbledore nodded, the devious twinkle in his eyes, "And I'm sure they will trust your teaching skills as well as I do myself."

"Thank you," Sirius said automatically. Then his brain and hearing clicked into sync. "Sorry – hang on – _what_?"

"Oh, I was merely saying that I'm sure the parents will have quite as much confidence as I do in your teaching skills. Particularly where Draco is concerned," Dumbledore explained as though he were merely saying he'd decided to buy Earl Grey instead of PG Tips teabags for a change.

"I'm sorry – I don't think I quite understand…"

"Oh it's really quite simple, you will be teaching our young charge to master his gift and turn it into a skill."

"I won't! I mean – um… well I _can't_! I don't know anything about that sort of thing."

Dumbledore gave a merry chuckle and replied, "Oh I do beg to differ, my friend. In fact I can think of no one more capable. There is no one else who is currently available who has the skill, will power and-" he looked up towards the ceiling innocently, steepling his fingers, "-_patience_ for such a task."

"No. I'm sorry but I just can't – the kid is a nightmare! We are absolutely incapable of working on a one-to-one basis. I really can't. There has to be someone better!" _Please, please let there be someone better, because I am not giving up my spare time to teach that little brat. No way._

"You will, Sirius."

"Sorry? Will…?"

"You will, I'm afraid, have to give up your spare time to teach 'that little…' _boy_."

Sirius stared at him. It was true! They'd always thought so and it bloody was! The old sod could read people's minds. Sirius sincerely hoped he wasn't reading at the moment, because he'd probably get the sack.

"Have faith in yourself, Sirius. You were one of the brightest students this school has ever seen – "

"So was Remus! Make him do it!"

"Remus has a career of his own to consider," Dumbledore reminded him, actually appearing to find Sirius' tantrum rather amusing, "not to mention general housekeeping."

"_Housekeeping_? What's that got to do with anything? And – how do you even _know_ he does the housekeeping, anyway?" Sirius demanded, colouring with irritation and mild embarrassment.

"Walls have ears, Sirius, and it is often extremely useful to know how to locate their mouths, as well."

Sirius blinked at him, wondering if perhaps the beaming old professor had found the stash of hallucinogens Graham Elessdi has hidden behind the loose brick in the room that used to be the old potions auxiliary cupboard. He certainly seemed more… _lucid_ at the moment. Though in a certain sense of the word, it had to be said. Perhaps it was the tea. Sirius and James tried to make mushroom tea, once. He tentatively sipped at the china cup in his hand. No, just normal tea.

"I must say I am terribly hungry," Dumbledore said thoughtfully. He took his wand and conjured a plate of round, butter-drenched savoury cakes. "Talking of Remus, how are you adjusting?" 

"Er—fine; yeah, it just took a bit of—"

"Crumpet?"

Sirius spluttered tea all over the desk. "Um…" he mopped at his chin with his sleeve. "Sorry?"

"Crumpet?" Dumbledore held out the plate of cakes.

"Er… no. Thanks."

"You're both well then?" 

"Um…we're fine. I think."

"Splendid! Now, Master Malfoy has free time on Wednesdays for the two periods after lunch. I'm sure you can arrange your own time during those periods to ensure you make the very best of the time you have with the young man. It's rather convenient that it coincides, don't you think?"

Sirius narrowed his eyes a fraction. "Yes. Extremely convenient." If he didn't know better he would have said that Dumbledore had done that on purpose. "There's also the fact that…well, Remus and I think the Malfoy kid would benefit from Harry's company. I mean, the poor little bugger's in a really sticky situation and he shouldn't be doing it alone."

"Yes, yes, of course. Are you willing to allow Harry to spend his time in Mr Malfoy's company?"

"I don't think it's down to me or Remus, really. If Harry is prepared to tolerate him I think it's down to Harry. I just think that the kid has got problems he's not going to talk to any of us about. Maybe talking to Harry will help."

"Yes, you're quite right, quite right indeed. It is quite incredible how people often speak to each other without actually communicating."

Sirius wondered how he had ever been considered intelligent when he had no bloody clue what the Headmaster was on about today. He made a non-committal sound and nodded. _Just leave the room and don't question it. Back away slowly and it'll all be okay… This is all because of that bloody kid, you know. If he hadn't started trying to blow himself up you wouldn't be sitting here with Tom fucking Bombadil. Shit – I hope he didn't hear that!_ Sirius stood up and made to leave. "Right, well, I'll be off."

"Yes, yes – you must discuss things with Remus, of course."

"Er, yeah… And Harry – he's a big part of this."

"Oh yes, most certainly. It will all be frightfully important to him, but I shouldn't consider it a problem," Dumbledore smiled.

"No. I think it'll all be fine with Harry… I'd better be going."

"Yes, yes, of course. Oh – and Sirius, things kept behind closed doors are often liable to break them down and cause quite a lot of bother. An opened door is far less complicated than a door blown off its hinges."

"Um. I'll remember that – thanks." Sirius left the room very, very quickly, entirely missing the look of amused exasperation Dumbledore cast him.

"Children these days… so very oblivious."

~*~

That afternoon Harry was asked very politely (in Remus's best 'Please do this for me so I don't have to pull the "I-am- your-guardian-you-are-obliged-to-do-as-I-say" stunt and you know I really don't like that' voice) to come to the cottage for dinner. Of course, a nice, homely meal away from the bustle and whispers of the Great Hall were all the encouragement Harry needed and he made his way directly there once he'd signed back in with Filch in the Entrance Hall. Remus hadn't stayed with them long at the pub, but had scuttled off rather soon after a quick word with Professor Flitwick. It was obvious that he had been asking the tiny Charms teacher to keep an eye on them as he took to trailing them when they went to the joke shop and on to Honeydukes, obviously thinking he was being subtle. Gavin had been a bit strange for the rest of the afternoon; absent and slightly distracted, but not enough to make Harry worry. Most people who'd been threatened by Draco Malfoy like that were usually a bit shaken.

Harry said goodbye to the Ravenclaw in the lobby and made his way across the lawns to the white picket fence on the perimeter of the cottage garden. He made his way around the back to where an old-fashioned stable-door led into the house from Remus's little vegetable patch. When Harry had asked, once, why they had one when Remus was often to be heard complaining about having to do the weeding again, Sirius's explanation had been that Remus was a person who always like to see things through. He always liked to make sure things were complete and this, unfortunately, included the middle-England cliché. Remus's answer was that it had been instilled in him by his green-fingered mother that things that came straight from the earth were better for you. Harry preferred Sirius's theory.

The teenager ambled into the kitchen, nearly tripping over the lower half of the door, which was locked and didn't move when he walked into it. Muttering and rubbing his bruised hip, Harry climbed over it and gave Remus the fright of his life by appearing behind him as he drained the potatoes. After a brief collection of chuckles and apologies Harry asked him what was wrong, as he was clearly distracted.

"Oh – nothing, I'm absolutely fine…" Remus told him, blushing and placing a tray full of empty eggshells back in the fridge beside a teapot and carefully pouring hot water into a partially-empty milk bottle.

"Oh yeah?" Harry asked, pulling a tub of ice cream out of the unlit oven – which he'd merely checked for a joke.

"Well –" Remus took the ice-cream out of his hand quickly and made to put it in the bread bin before shaking himself and putting it in the freezer, "-I'm just a touch distracted…"

"I did notice, actually, Moo," Harry laughed. "What's the matter?"

"What? Oh. Nothing – it's just… well… post-moon and all that."

Harry nodded, humouring him. It was a blatant lie, of course, but everyone seemed to be acting strange today, so he let it pass, convinced that he'd find out eventually if it was that relevant.

Suddenly there came the sound of the front door being slammed incredibly hard and Remus winced. "Harry," he said, in a would-be-calm sort of voice, "he's in a very bad temper and there's…. well, there's something-" He was cut short as Sirius stomped into the room and dumped a large collection of dusty books onto the kitchen table.

"As if teaching all the little bastards wasn't enough!" he complained loudly, "What does the old git think I am, some sort of miracle worker? Where the fuck does he think I'll find the time?"

"Time for what?" Harry asked, only catching Remus's warning look when it was too late, just as it dissolved into a distinct expression of _'Oh God, not again!'_

"For _what_? To teach the bad tempered little bastard how to not char grill everyone within thirty feet when he throws a tantrum, that's what!"

Harry blinked rapidly and scratched his temple. "H-hang on… you're going to…? _You_ are going to teach _Draco?_" he asked in disbelief. _Oh no… they'll _kill_ each other!_

"Not through choice," Sirius said irritably, verging on a childish sulk.

"But – why you? Couldn't Dumbledore find anyone else?" _Anyone less likely to get reduced to a pile of ash when they wind him up?_

"I don't actually think the old git even tried. And he's going fucking bonkers! He used to talk in riddles when here were here, but these days he's just talking rubbish!"

"Just because _you_ don't understand him, Siri?" Remus asked wearily as he began to spoon mayonnaise into the boiled potatoes. "And don't swear so much."

"I'll fucking swear as much as I bastard well like. And what's that supposed to mean, 'Just because I don't understand him'?" the black-haired man replied, scowling.

Remus gave a pained sigh, "If you ever actually listened to what Dumbledore said properly and didn't take every little thing at face value you wouldn't be in such a mood and you would know what he was talking about."

"He _always_ talks in riddles," Harry added, "I think half the point is to leave you so confused you're forced to think about it." He shrugged and picked up a piece of sliced mushroom. "That's my theory, anyway."

"Oh go on, all gang up on me, why don't you?" Sirius pouted, also moving to take a piece of mushroom and receiving a wooden spoon across the knuckles. "OI! Oh yeah, that's right, let Harry take a bit but whack me one when I do. Thanks a lot," he pouted, licking mayonnaise from his affronted fingers.

"Oh stop moaning, you big baby," Remus tutted with a half-smile and shoved three slices into Sirius' face, shaking his head.

Harry chuckled at them. They could both be so very juvenile at times. But Harry was quite sure he now knew what Remus was so distracted about. A foul tempered Sirius was always hard work.

"So, is this what I'm here for? For _you_ to whinge at and to help _you_ cope with his moaning?" Harry grinned, sitting down.

"Among other things," Remus muttered, throwing handfuls of chopped spring onion into the potato bowl.

"What other things?" Harry asked, picking up a piece of spring onion that had rolled off the nearby chopping board.

"Harry, will you stop picking, please? You'll get _him_ started…" Remus said, shoving Harry's hand away as he went for another piece and gesturing to Sirius with his wooden spoon.

"Sorry," Harry said, smiling up at him mock-innocently, only to take a piece of diced carrot when Remus turned away to pick up some sweetcorn.

"OI! That's not fair! Remus – Harry just took some carrot!" Sirius told him, picking up another piece of mushroom and hiding it in his fist until he had a chance to eat it.

"Harry!"

"What? He's got some mushroom!"

"No I haven't!"

"He has! It's in his hand!"

"Sirius?" Remus scowled, holding out his own hand.

Sirius glared at Harry. "Bloody tell tale tit." 

"Right, that's it – out. The pair of you, out of the kitchen until I've finished! You're flaming well driving me mad!"

"Oh typical you – have to rub salt in the would, don't you? You should have been a Slytherin…" Sirius sulked, throwing the slice of mushroom and hitting Remus square in the forehead.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Um – you said 'flaming', Moo…" Harry explained, shaking his head in mock-disapproval. 

"Oh that is _it_! OUT!" He physically picked Harry up and dumped him on the threshold to the living room before turning to Sirius and silently pointing at the door. Sirius hung his head and sloped out, muttering something about mucking about. "Actually, Sirius – come and get these books. They shouldn't be out here while I'm cooking."

Sirius gave a loud sigh and returned to collect them. "Sorry - _Moo_min Mama," he said sarcastically when he was out of reach of the wooden spoon.

"Blasted children!" Remus muttered, shaking his sandy head in exasperation. He wouldn't have minded but who else had to hold down a job, run a home and look after two kids aged fifteen and thirty-seven? He felt like a single mother.

Half an hour later they were finally allowed back into the kitchen and they all sat down to a very summery meal of cold chicken and potato salad. "So what was it you need to tell me?" Harry asked, trying, and failing, to stab a fork into a potato that seemed to want chasing around his plate.

Sirius and Remus cast each other uncomfortable looks. "Well," Remus began, carefully, "we need to talk to you about Draco Malfoy…"

Harry stopped chasing the potato and looked up at them, both sitting on the opposite side of the table like a pair of awkward interviewers who didn't know how to tell him he most certainly hadn't got the job. "What about him?"

"Do you get on better, these days?" Remus asked, trying to sound casual and succeeding only in sounding nervous.

"Um… better, yes…" Harry replied suspiciously. "Why?"

"Well, we've been thinking-"

"Look – we think he needs someone to talk to, and as he seems quite keen on you all of a sudden, we think you're best for the job. Now, you can turn us down if you want – fuck knows I wouldn't bloody want to do it – but we thought we'd ask all the same."

"But Dumbledore-"

"See? He doesn't want to. Fine – I totally understand, I said you wouldn't want to."

Remus cast Sirius an impatient look. "You absolutely did not. Anyway, Harry – would you mind, at all? Dumbledore thinks he needs a friend, too, and provided no-one broadcasts the matter-"

"He doesn't want to, Moony! It's obvious!"

"Sirius, will you let him answer for himself? Not everyone is quite as uncharitable as you, you know."

"I'd happily do it," Harry said earnestly, continuing to pursue the errant potato.

"_What?_" Sirius asked in horror.

"I'll do it. He's really alright once you get to know him a bit…"

Remus smiled with relief, "Thank you, Harry, that's really very kind. You see, Sirius – he doesn't mind."

Words, apparently, had failed the other man and he merely looked at Harry as though he had sprouted horns or turned a particularly putrid shade of green.

"I've spoken to him quite a bit recently," Harry shrugged, "We can get on okay when we're not fighting… and he's actually quite funny some times. Not often, but some times…"

"But…" Sirius managed the one word before his brain seized up again and he looked at his friend in the vain hope of some form of support.

"Good," Remus smiled at the boy opposite him, "I'm quite glad. Actually, he'd never admit it, but it was Sirius's idea. He's a sensitive soul under the antagonistic exterior, aren't you, Padfoot?" He patted the dark-haired man on his arm and gave Harry a conspiratorial grin. Sirius merely made an indistinct gurgle.

Harry grinned at his godfather and continued, "He talks to me about things I don't think he's ever told anyone before – about his mum and dad and all that… I feel sorry for him, really."

"That's because you're a nice person, as James was. So what sort of things does he tell you?"

"Well, um… like the fact his mum is really sort of mentally ill, now. It sounds like she had some sort of breakdown after Lucius Malfoy murdered their little girl. The only thing stopping her being taken back to France is that she won't leave Draco with him." Harry prodded at his food thoughtfully, "He's really fond of her and talking about her really sort of… _bothers_ him like nothing else can. It's sad." _Well, one other thing can bother him, but there's no way I'm telling you that with Mr Grumpy in the room._

"The poor woman," Remus sighed, frowning. "But there's nothing anyone can do until Lucius has been caught or confesses, or until she goes to the Ministry."

"Wouldn't they just lock her up, like they locked up Wormtail?"

"If she's lucky," Sirius muttered, apparently having found his tongue.

"Lucky? How would that be lucky?" Harry demanded, feeling oddly protective of her for Draco's sake.

"Because if she goes to the Ministry I'm bloody sure it'd be the last thing she'd ever do. He'd kill her for something like that. That's what Malfoy's like," Sirius told him, the sound of contempt seeping into his voice with a good measure of disgust.

Remus nodded in concordance. "She'd be eliminated without a thought."

"So – what's he going to do to Draco if he finds out? Would he have him killed, too?"

"Naturally." 

Sirius's response was so quick, so sure, so very blasé that Harry felt instantly sick. "But then… if everyone knows what Lucius is like, why can't they stop him?"

"It's bureaucracy, Harry," Remus explained, "You can't just go and arrest someone for something without the proper foundation to do so. You at least need to have them under suspicion of a specific crime-"

"And being an old bastard doesn't count, mores the pity… we could have had Sevvy locked up some time ago under that one."

"But he murdered his own baby! And his mother!"

"Do you have proof, Harry?" Remus asked challengingly, reverting to 'teacher-mode' for a moment.

"Draco told me he did and I believe him-"

"Does Draco have proof?" Sirius interrupted, shovelling chicken into his mouth.

"I- I dunno…"

"Right, well, Lucius would have been very, very careful to leave no trace. The baby would never have been registered. The mid-wife probably had a memory charm done on her – everyone else he was certain he could keep silent. When his mother was killed he probably made it look like an accident or a natural death…" Sirius said with a shrug, "He's a bastard, but he's a very clever bastard."

"Her name was Penemue Malfoy, wasn't it?" Remus asked, running two fingers across his bottom lip, thoughtfully.

"I don't know," Harry replied.

"I think it was, Moo – she came to our presentation evening, didn't she? Didn't seem like a Malfoy, to me. She actually enjoyed herself."

"I remember reading her obituary in the paper. She apparently died of a broken neck after falling down the stairs at Malfoy Manor."

"Falling? You mean being pushed…"

"Well, I would suspect so, yes, but there was no proof," Remus shrugged, "and of course, Malfoy made a fuss and played the grieving son-" at this point Sirius snorted loudly, "- and because the Malfoys had been some of the first to claim they had been acting under Imperius and he was donating money to charities and getting his foot back in the door of popularity-"

"-intimidation, more like…"

"Well, probably, yes, but because people believed him it was all accepted and no one batted an eyelid. Any who may have suspected would have kept their theories to themselves for fear of intimidation or dissent."

"But the Malfoys were really close to the Lestranges, weren't they? Everyone knew the Lestranges were Death Eaters!"

"Oh use your loaf, Harry! Guilt by association only worked on Crouch and by that time Fudge was at the top," Sirius told him, through a mouthful of potato salad.

Remus looked at Harry with his head tilted slightly to the side. "How did you know about the Lestranges? From Draco?"

"Yeah. He was having a dig at Neville one night and I told him what happened to Neville's mum and dad… He said that the Lestranges were something like godparents to him. If Lucius and Narcissa had been caught they would have brought him up until he had his Life taken. And he told me about Aleister Lestrange… and their younger son. I can't remember his name…"

"Mathias."

Both Harry and Remus looked at Sirius. 

"Yeah… that was it…. Mathias," Harry asked in surprise. "How did you know that?"

Sirius shifted uncomfortably in his seat and looked at his plate.

"He was named after a distant relative of Siri's," Remus explained awkwardly, "Zagam _Mathias_ Joiner. He was killed as a sacrifice to whatever gods gave Voldemort his power in return for a year living in luxury. It's not something that worked in Siri's favour when he was accused himself…"

"And the baby Mathias was then given to Voldemort – although officially he died of cot death?" Harry asked.

Sirius gave another snort. "That's not how I heard it in Azkaban. The older kid was packed off to his grandparents and the baby was sent off down to Cornwall to be brought up by someone else – give him a new life."

"Was he brought up by Death Eaters, then?" Harry said, giving up on his dinner altogether.

"No idea. Possibly – the ministry had nothing to do with it."

"God… I should tell Draco. He'd probably be quite interested to know that."

There was a short silence before Remus asked: "Are you already friendly with Draco, Harry?"

Harry shrugged. "Yeah… I've been talking to him a bit, recently. People really don't understand him. I don't understand him, still, but he's not such a horrible person, really. A cocky little prat, yes, obviously, but he's… okay when he wants to be."

Sirius grimaced and pushed his plate away slightly. "Yeah, well, I can't see myself ever being such a fan of his. I can just see how these lessons are going to go…" he blew a slow raspberry and made a vague deflating gesture with his hands.

"Pessimist."

"Realist, more like," Sirius argued, casting Remus a haughty look. "You've taught him, you know what he's like!"

"Well they aren't going to be remotely pleasant if you insist on going into them with that attitude. Kids are very perceptive, Sirius, you've got to treat them as you would like to be treated, and if they know you hate what you're doing you have absolutely no hope of convincing the students."

"Yeah, well, thank you very much, Mr Jung."

Remus huffed and shook his head. "There's no telling him," he confided in Harry, "He's a pig-headed, obstinate git."

"If this is going to erupt into all-out war again, I'm going back to school," Harry warned half-seriously. "But I really don't know what you've got against him, Padfoot – he hardly speaks in your lessons!"

"Yeah, and why's that? Because he already knows it all and he's sitting there quietly thinking how crap my lessons are, that's why!"

"You, Sirius, are shockingly paranoid," Remus told him, collecting the plates and standing up. "Summer pudding, Harry?"

"What, with your accidental attempt at baked Alaska?"

Remus blushed and muttered, "Cream or ice cream, it's up to you."

Sirius was too busy feeling sorry for himself to notice. "I just can't stand the little monster. He's a snotty nosed little runt. And he's Snape's favourite."

"Oh how petty!"

"Shut up Moony, it's true. Anyone Snape actually likes is obviously an abomination of some degree."

"Let me think – what was it you said, earlier? Oh yes: 'I know we can't just let them be best mates and go running around as if they've been friends from the off, but the poor little sod's probably feeling like shit'… Does that sound like someone who thinks the boy is an abomination to you, Harry?"

Harry shook his head.

"You see? It isn't just me." Remus plonked a bowl of summer pudding in front of the other man and patted his shoulder. "It won't detract from your integrity or you masculinity if you admit to not hating a Malfoy, you know."

"Honestly, Sirius, he's alright," Harry agreed, taking his own bowl of dessert from Remus and covering it with cream. "I wouldn't want to do this if I thought he was that much of a prat, would I?"

"Probably. You're a Potter."

Remus gave a chuckle. "As long as I've known him, Padfoot's had trouble with accepting how nice James actually was. You're just the same, really, and he finds it agonising, don't you, Siri?"

"No."

"You do."

"James wasn't _all_ nice…"

"No, that's true, if he had been _all_ nice he wouldn't have been your best friend, would he?"

"Your father," Sirius said to Harry, "could always see the best in everyone – even when it wasn't there. Moony was just the same and they used to gang up on me for never trusting Slytherins."

Harry laughed.

"Don't sit there giggling! It's not funny."

"Oh it is," Remus chuckled. "It always has been. You just take things too far to heart and get far too passionate, Padfoot."

"Do I? Well at least I don't make any pretence about it," Sirius snapped.

Remus promptly stopped laughing. An uncomfortable silence fell on the room and Harry looked between the two uncertainly. He wasn't sure what was going on, but Sirius's retort had obviously touched a nerve. He thought it was best that he be off.

"Um – I'm going to go back, now… I've got some homework I should do…"

"Don't go, Harry, you haven't finished your pudding," Remus said quickly, almost a little pleadingly.

"He can go if he wants to. You wouldn't want him getting detention, would you, Moony?" Sirius replied.

"No, I think I'd better go… Hermione'll worry if I'm not back soon – you know what she's like," Harry said, standing up.

"I'll walk you if you like," Remus offered, also rising.

"He knows the way, stop molly coddling him!"

"I'm not, I just feel like a walk, if that's okay with you."

"Oh go on then, do what you like," Sirius huffed, sliding his chair out noisily. "I'm going upstairs. I've got some reading to do, now anyway. See you tomorrow, Harry."

For a moment they both stared after him, Harry looking bewildered, Remus looking too exhausted to face dealing with him at all.

"Is everything okay?" Harry asked hesitantly after a moment.

"Yes," Remus sighed wearily, "nothing for you to worry about. Come on, I'll walk you back."

Glancing toward the living room door, through which Sirius had just left, Harry shrugged and followed Remus out.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

****

*The Sheep in Cardiff Joke.

This joke comes courtesy of a Welsh friend of mine, one Dave Edwards, who is deeply proud of his Welshness, has Welsh as his first language and yet still enjoys (and indeed advocates) the stereotype of Welshmen having a less than culinary fondness for the local livestock. _For those who don't know, Cardiff is the Welsh capital._

The Joke:

Q1: What do you call as sheep tied to a lamppost in Cardiff?

A: A public convenience.

Q2: What do you call four sheep tied to a lamppost in Cardiff?

A: A leisure centre!


	7. Chapter VII Paint a Face of Pain Endur...

****

Chapter ~ VII

Paint a Face of Pain Endurance

__

"Give me time to realise my crimes..." Culture Club

Draco looked at Dumbledore aghast; he simply refused to believe what he was hearing. "But you surely cannot be serious! "

"Draco, please do sit down," Dumbledore said mildly, gesturing to the sofa.

"No, I shall not. Sirius Black is not a worthy teacher. The man is a beast and a bully! He may be capable of bungling his way through Defence classes, but he is not an expert in pyroclasty! You place so much concern on ensuring I am taught to 'master my gift' and yet you are placing me in the charge of someone completely devoid of any experience in the matter. It's preposterous!"

"It is quite true, Mr Malfoy, that Sirius is not pyroclastic, nor is he an expert in pyroclasty. He is, however, one of the best wizards this school has ever produced. You may not be aware, Draco, as so few people are, that Sirius Black, at the age of fifteen, became the youngest person in recorded history to master the Animagus transformation."

"Pardon?" 

Snape stepped out from the shadows where he was lurking, bearing something of a Dementor-like air; "Sirius Black, James Potter and Peter Pettigrew broke virtually every school and Ministry rule and regulation to become Animagi. Black, being the youngest of the trio, is believed to be the youngest person to complete the process." 

__

How typical. What a shock that Black is unregistered and rule-breaking. "And this is deemed sufficient qualification to teach me how to master pyroclasty, an entirely unconnected and infinitely more dangerous matter?" Draco scoffed. "What does he become? A salamander?"

Dumbledore ignored the comment and continued regardless. "Mr Black is assuming the role as of Wednesday, and has begun studying the phenomenon in his own time in order to give you the very best assistance we can provide. I am trusting you to be courteous, respectful and to help yourself and Sirius in any way you can. We are all making our very finest efforts to help you, and we shall continue to do so every step of the way."

"Thank you, I'm honoured," Draco replied, irritably. "Is that all you need to tell me? May I leave?"

"No." Snape sounded even more annoyed that Draco felt.

"We have some other news," Dumbledore informed him, "News which I suspect will met with considerably more pleasure."

__

Well whoopee. Excuse me while I dance a short polka around your desk.

"By all means, Master Malfoy, by all means," Dumbledore said, giving a small sweeping gesture around the office. "Although I would rather you heard the information I have for you before we get too carried away."

Draco just checked himself from letting his jaw drop like a stunned halibut. _How...? What...?_

"Mr Black also had a second purpose for visiting me this afternoon."

"Really?"

"Yes, yes indeed. He feels that you would benefit from some time spent with Harry Potter. It would seem you are more at ease in his company than in ours, which is of course greatly understandable."

"_Black?_ Black wants me to spend time with Harry?"

"He understands, Draco, that speaking to one of your contemporaries will be more comfortable than speaking to any of us old fogeys," Dumbledore elaborated with an irritating twinkle.

Draco was too confused to respond at first. What on Earth was Black playing at? The barbarian had practically assaulted him in the town for even saying hello to Harry - now he was asking for them to spend time together! _I'll talk to Harry about it, get his side of the story and then...Just leave it to me and Remus, alright? We're trying to help you, so stop fucking everything up_. Was that what he had meant? Leave it to him and Lupin and they would arrange for him to spend time with Harry when it wouldn't jeopardise their plans? _How very thoughtful. I still have to live in a bubble, but at least I get to spend time with their precious godson._

-_but it's Harry - any excuse to spend time with Harry is a good excuse!_

That's it, eat your humble pie and don't complain. What a good little Gryffindork we are...

-Oh shut up.

"When?" 

"Thursday afternoons it would seem you have corresponding free periods, in which you will be free to socialise as you see fit in a room which will be allocated this evening and guarded by strong wards," Dumbledore told him, almost sounding proud of the matter.

"Only Thursdays?" Draco asked, just managing to sound neutral and not as disappointed as he felt.

"On a preliminary basis, yes, but should both of you feel the need to increase your sessions you will be more that free to do so, provided they do not impede your studies. It will be your own responsibility to ensure you remain up to date with all other commitments."

Draco nodded.

"Wonderful! Then we shall inform you as soon as our arrangements are complete," Dumbledore smiled, "You may leave."

Snape watched the boy close the door behind him with narrowed eyes. "You are making a mistake, Professor, a very grave mistake."

"I'm quite aware of your opinion, Severus," the old man replied airily, "and until such time as you are proved correct I would be rather grateful if you would accept mine."

"But -"

"Severus, should either Master Malfoy or Mister Black acquire third degree burns or be reduced to a pile of ash you will be more than welcome to dig out the old tutu and prance about the office chanting 'I told you so'. However, I would not waste time searching for it just at present as I fear it would be an inconvenience of little purpose."

Snape gritted his teeth. The old sadist always took such delight in bringing the tutu incident up. He didn't even feel it was funny any more. It was twenty years ago - surely there was no need to dance the same old dance again. He winced inwardly at the irony of the metaphor and couldn't help suspecting the twinkle in Dumbledore's eye was a confession of guilt. Severus wondered why he even bothered.

Draco couldn't decide whether to be pleased or annoyed. On the one hand he had what he wanted - permission to spend time with Harry. On the other, the fact that he actually required permission annoyed him profusely. Why should he have to bow and scrape to them purely so he could talk to another student? What right did they have to dictate his whereabouts and social circle?

__

He's Harry Potter - they have monopolies on him, remember? It's not about you.

- Of course it's about you! Granger and the Weasel are allowed to talk to him. It's just because it's you. You're a Malfoy and as far as they're concerned you're dangerous - even if you aren't a Death Eater.

- I'm more dangerous to myself that anyone else!

At least you got that right. They obviously don't think you're particularly powerful.

- They think I'm dangerous enough to need private lessons.

And then they'll use you to achieve what they want. Are you that naive? 

- What's to say I don't want to achieve the same as them?

Pretend to yourself as much as you wish - the truth will out.3

Harry left Remus at the foot of the stone steps to the Entrance Hall and watched as the man turned towards the lake, clearly not intending to go straight home. He didn't seem very happy. He seemed worried, even - it was obvious from the way his shoulders were sloped and he couldn't seem to be bothered to hold his head up properly - it was as though the weight of the world was literally on his shoulders.

A voice behind him made Harry jump, and he had only half turned when a pair of hands clamped on to his shoulders.

"Gavin?"

"Hey - sorry, didn' mean t' frighten you..."

Harry took a quick breath and laughed. "Don't worry about it, I was just surprised, that's all."

The other boy appeared to be blushing and he gave a half smile, tucking his hair behind his ear in that terribly endearing manner he had. "I' been waitin' for you t' get back... I wan'ed t'say sorry, like - for being a bit weird earlier..."

"Oh - that's alright - and don't let Dr...Malfoy get to you, he's just talk. He doesn't even bother me, any more..."

"Good - he'd bes' not or I migh'ave t' turn that nice, glossy hair o'his pink," Gavin said firmly, a hint of a scowl on his friendly face.

__

For me? Woah... I wonder if he realises that'd be a suicide mission? "Well, um... thanks, but there's really no need. It's not worth the hassle you'd get."

"Yeah, well," Gavin shrugged, looking away and blushing slightly more, "I'd say it's worth it, in this case..."

Harry wasn't sure how he was supposed to take that comment, but he hoped upon hope that Gavin had meant what it sounded like he'd meant.

"Look, _'Arry..._" the older boy began, seeming to scrape together some resolve and forcing himself to look Harry in the eye, "I really enjoyed t'day... 'ad a really grea' time... an' I thought, well, y'know... tha' were jus' t'say thank you, an everythin'... but I'd really like t'see you sort of... sort of... well, _more_... I mean... I'd like to spen' more time wi' you, is what I'm tryin' t'say..."

__

There is no way I just heard that correctly. No way in hell. "S-sorry?"

Gavin blushed redder. "I were tryin' to ask if..." he stopped, looking awkwardly away from him. "Oh, it don' matter... It's not import'nt... I'll jus'... sorta... go."

"No!" Harry said quickly, grabbing his arm in a moment of irrational near-panic, "No, Gavin - wait. Sorry, _sorry_ - I just... never mind. It doesn't matter - I just wasn't sure you... I didn' think I heard you...right. That's to say..." _Oh God. I'm rambling. I'm rambling! Stop! Stop it, you idiot!_ "I mean... I'd... um... I'd like to. See more of you. In a friendly sense - not in a physical sense! I mean - it would have to be in a physical sense because you'd physically have to be there - but I don't mean, y'know - _'physical'_. Not that I wouldn't li- I mean...Um..." _Oh God what the hell am I saying? He's going to hate me! He'll think I'm crazy!_

"No, 'course not..." Gavin murmured, sounding slightly..._disappointed?_

"But I'd really like to... y'know - hang out... or something... sometimes. That _is _what you meant... isn't it?"

"Yes! Exac'ly! Exac'ly - hang out... or somethin'."

"Yeah."

"Good."

"Great."

"When?"

Harry was flabbergasted. _When? He must be keen... Ha! Yeah, you wish, Potter._ "Um... I dunno... whenever... We practise on Friday nights and Sunday afternoons, though... and I have prefects meetings and stuff sometimes... but I mean... whenever you like, really..."

"T'morrow?"

"Tomorrow?"

"Is tha' too soon? I mean - I don't wanna get in th' way - I jus' thought... well..."

"Tomorrow's fine! Fine. I can do tomorrow. Tomorrow - yeah, that's...absolutely fine."

Gavin beamed at him. "Brilliant. T'morrow, then. Where? An' when?"

"Um... I dunno... here?" Harry suggested, completely devoid of sensible ideas. "We can decide then..."

"Great! Wha' time?"

"Er... half past two?"

"'Alf pas' two. Right. Got it. Cool - I'll um... see you t'morrow, then?"

"Yeah."

They both stood in exactly where they were in silence.

"Unless..."

"Unless?"

"Unless you wanna do somethin' _now_ - 'fore House restriction..?" Gavin suggested hopefully, tucking his hair behind his ear again. 

__

God you look so cute when you do that... Cute? I just called Gavin Cross 'cute'. Oh God. "Um... well, I can't, really - I've got some homework I should be doing for Defence Against the Dark Arts..."

"Oh." The look of disappointment on the other boy's face was absolutely heart-rending for a moment, but then his brown eyes suddenly lit up and he said, "Wait a minute - I could 'elp! I mean - if you wan' me to... It's my bes' subject! I did it all las' year, anyway, didn' I?"

"Um - I suppose so, yeah," Harry replied, turning a deeper shade of plum.

"Brilliant! Well, you go an' get your stuff an' I'll see you in th' lib'ry in a bit!"

With that he gave Harry one last joyful grin and bolted off down the corridor.

Harry dashed through the portrait hole, up to the dorm and back down again in the space of under a minute, not even leaving Ron and Hermione enough time to ask why he was in such a rush, but taking the care to grin at them as he left and explain, "Can't stop - gotta get to the library... Gavin's meeting me there!" before he disappeared. 

In fact, Harry didn't stop running until he reached the corner before the library, where he paused to catch his breath, not wanting to appear too eager, and attempted to flatten his hair slightly - to absolutely no avail. Just as he took a last deep breath and turned the corner, finding it impossible to repress an insane grin, he bumped into a couple of Ravenclaw fourth years who stared at him oddly and shrugged at each other as if bemused by his expression. Harry was far too wound up with nervous energy to pay much attention.

When Harry walked (an action which took a lot of will power on his part, as his legs seemed desperate to sprint) into the vast, shelf-lined room he initially began to think he'd hurried in vain - the Ravenclaw was no where to be seen; but when he reached the final isle, tucked away near the back, his disappointment lifted instantly. Gavin sat facing the window, a large pile of books at his elbow and a number of scrolls in front of him, which he was avidly pawing over and going through, muttering to himself quietly.

"That was quick," Harry said, grinning and dumping his own bag on the table, which gave the other boy such a fright he sent all his books and scrolls of parchment tumbling noisily to the floor.

"_You_ were quick!" he mumbled, and promptly turned red, bowing to collect the books and scrolls from the floor. Harry crouched to help and placed some back on the table before bowing down again at exactly the same time as Gavin sat up - knocking their heads together and almost knocking them both out. "Oh God - 'Arry, I'm so sorry! Are y'alright? I didn' 'urt you, did I?" he said quickly, grabbing at the Gryffindor's arm to stop him over balancing into the shelves behind him.

"Ugg..." Harry murmured, shaking his head roughly, "Ooh... um - I actually feel quite dizzy..."

"I'd best take you t'th' 'ospital wing. Tha's th' second knock you 'ad today..." the other boys said, worriedly, standing up and putting an arm around his shoulders to steady him.

"Hospital wing? No - um... I'll be okay. Honestly."

Gavin looked at him dubiously. "I really don' know, 'Arry - I think you should pro'lly see Madam Pomfrey or somethin'..."

"Madam Pomfrey'll just shove lots of horrible potions and enough chocolate to choke a large hippo in my mouth... there's no point. I'm honestly fine. Really - let's just get down to it..."

For some reason, Gavin turned even redder at that.

Harry sat down and began to unroll his parchment. "We've got to collect a list of curses - ten in all - and describe how they're used and what for. What they do - stuff like that... We get ten points for every curse we find that no one else got."

"Oh, really? Tha's quite good... I know a few curses already, ach'lly..."

"Do you? I mean - I know you must do and everything, but what sort of curses?"

Gavin shrugged and tucked his hair behind his ear. "Well, y'know - jus' from books an' stuff. I always had an in'trest in stuff like that, really..."

"Well, I've had to learn a few in the past... for the Tournament, mainly..."

"I bet you did..." Gavin murmured, reaching out a hand and placing it on his shoulder, gently, as though subtly offering his condolences.

"But anyway," Harry said, quickly moving on to avoid the pity he knew was coming next, "I need new ones because Sirius knows which curses I already know. Mostly because I've used all of them on him at some point for stealing my breakfast..."

Gavin laughed and lowered his hand back to the table, picking up some parchment. "Righ', well, first off, I think you'd like the ... _Hallitotum_! Hallitotum is this really nasty curse where th' victim's breath gets instan'ly so bad they an' anyone close enough jus' passes out - like that!" he clicked his fingers with a grin.

Harry laughed. "That sounds...pleasant."

"Not at all - but then, tha's th' point, innet?"

"Okay," Harry grinned, "So when would you use that?"

"Well, you tell me - 's your 'omework!"

"Alright... um... so you could use that one when... when you just need to stun a large group of people for a short time...?"

"Bingo," Gavin replied, patting his shoulder, "See - 's 'not 'ard, is it?"

"No."

"Right, so, nex' one... lemme think..."

"Do you know any really horrible ones?" Harry asked suddenly, not sure what had even spurred him to voice the question.

"_Really_ 'orrible?" Gavin echoed, grimacing slightly. "Well, I mean - I know some I would be really 'fraid of..."

"Like what?" Harry asked with interest, sweeping a few pieces of parchment out of the way so he could sit nearer.

"Well... like Impedimenta Solaris, which is this really evil curse tha' you can' ever recover from."

"What does it do?"

"Blinds you. It's known as th' Curse o' a Thousan' Suns. It has all the light of the Sun as we see it, timed by loads - pro'lly not a thousan' but you get the idea - an' if you catch one o' them in the face you're basic'ly done for. You'll never see again."

"God..." Harry murmured, "Can you imagine what it'd be like to be blind? I mean... you couldn't read or write properly or play Quidditch or even really fly... I'd hate not to be able to fly anymore..."

"I know, me either... but imagine all the fantastic things - all the things that make you happy just by looking at them - that you would never see again..." He scanned Harry's face before settling his gaze on his wide green eyes. "I know it's that sort of thing I'd miss the most." He looked down at the desk and prodded at it with the tip of a quill he was fiddling with.

"I just literally can't imagine it. I mean - how would you cope? How would you get around? And what would it be like to be in constant darkness? Or do they see colours? It's... weird."

"Here-" Gavin said, putting down the quill and shifting his chair so he was sitting almost behind him. "Take y' glasses off a sec." Harry did as he was told and the other boy gently pressed his hands over Harry's closed lids. "How's that feel?" he asked quietly.

For a moment Harry couldn't think of anything to say. He was too concerned with what was going on in his stomach to take much notice of what was going on in front of his eyes. "Um... it feels... strange."

"Good-strange or bad-strange?"

"I don't know..." Harry mumbled, reaching up to place his own hands over Gavin's, "I know I'm not really blind and I...well... it's your hands," he shrugged, not letting go, "it's not scary having them there or anything..." He blinked as light flooded his senses again as the other boy let go.

"Show me," he said, swivelling around in his seat so Harry could reach, "cover my eyes."

"Um... okay." Harry stood up so he could reach better and placed his palms over the Ravenclaw's own closed lids. "What do you see?"

"Nothin'..." Gavin replied slowly, "'cept darkness... just a red-tinged darkness... But I can smell somethin' really, really nice..." He caught Harry's sleeve and sniffed at it. "I thought it were you! You smell so nice..."

Harry blushed as Gavin gently ease his hands away and looked up at him. "I dunno what of - my clothes get cleaned by the house elves, just the same as yours and everyone else's..."

"Ah - well, I' must be tha' you're a saint, then. They say even saints' moldy old corpses smell o' roses..." Gavin grinned, only half humorously.

"I'm not a saint," Harry replied, tugging his hand back gently, "I'm just Harry and I wish people would stop trying to make me something more than that, sometimes. Most of the time, actually..."

"I'm sorry - I didn' mean... But you're no' jus' _'Arry_ - you're 'Arry the bloody brilliant Seeker an' you're 'Arry the really kind an' selfless bloke in Gryffindor an' you're 'Arry the bloke wi' the most impossibly green eyes I've ever seen - an' it's _really_ cool!"

Harry just stood and blushed. _I can't believe he's saying this stuff to me... this is so weird... but God I..._ Before Harry knew what he was doing was reaching out two fingers to push a stray lock of hair behind Gavin's ear and saying out loud "Well... thanks... but that's a bit ironic coming from you..."

A nano-second after he had completed the action Harry yanked his hand back in shock. _Oh God what have you said, you bloody big idiot?_ "I... um... I think we should get back to doing my homework, now. Sirius will probably turn me into a newt as an example or something if I don't get it done..."

A flicker of a frown passed over the other boy's face and he nodded and turned back to the desk. "So, what about Dormir I Mortis?"

"The Dead Sleep?"

"Yeah... you've 'eard of it?"

"Yeah... Remus said that someone in my family was taken by it. It was my auntie Jennifer... she's in St Mungo's in an unbreakable sleep."

"Oh - Harry, I'm really sorry! I'm bloody useless a' this - keep doin' th' wrong thing, don' I?" he said, his face scrunched up with embarrassment. "I'm such a bloody 'Ufflepuff, sometimes!"

"It's okay - don't worry... I haven't even been to see her yet..." Harry said, not wanting the other boy to get upset and leave.

"Tha's 'ardly th' point, is it?"

"But you weren't to know, were you? You didn't say it to upset me. And it hasn't - honestly - it's hard to miss someone you've never known."

"Tell me about it," Gavin muttered and hesitantly reached out a hand, laying his fingers on Harry's.

Harry automatically turned over his hand and his breath hitched as Gavin laced his fingers with Harry's own. He blushed - they both did - and turned back to the homework without letting go.

~*~

Sirius sat at his bedroom window and watched Remus walk down to the lake and sit on the sloping bank. Neither of them moved for over two hours. Remus watched the water and Sirius watched Remus. They'd done as such before, many years ago. Sirius wasn't sure, now, if it had happened before or after he had kissed the fair-haired boy during the game, but he remembered clearly that the others had been off racing up and down the beach in some ridiculous torment of the girls - and in fact Sirius had been, too. Or, had had been until he realised that Remus wasn't playing. The other boy was a hundred yards away, crouching at the very edge of the beach, completely still and gazing out into the dark waters.

__

"Moooony-moo? What're you up to, mate? Come and play - come on!"

Remus continuing to stare into the sea. "No... I'm fine..." a light, distracted voice - almost a sigh.

Running over and collapsing onto the pebbles beside him... complaining about landing on a sharp one that left a bruise for days... "You alright, Moo? You've been really quiet."

Another sigh, Remus tilting his head to the side as though listening. "Can you hear it?"

"Um... no."

"Listen ."

Hush. Nothing but the washing of the sea against the beach, the girls' squeals and the singing of ships' rigging in the breeze, somewhere down the beach. "I don't hear-"

"She understands."

"Who?"

"The Sea."

"The Sea_? Ohhh - right, yeah - sorry. Can't believe I didn't realise...Silly me."_

"She does."

"I'm sure she does. Still, no more cider for you tonight, eh?"

A pale face lifted to look at the sky - the Moon. Barely a sliver of white in a vast expanse of dark, dark blue.

"You don't understand, Siri..." Remus's voice so soft... barely catching on the breeze as it danced around them. "We're both governed by the Moon. She rules the tides and she rules me. She understands"

A penny dropping. Oh yes - Remus in his murky, poetic mood. Seeing things that were beyond the power of the human eye to observe and feeling things that most sixteen year olds would scorn.

"Remus..."

"It makes sense, now."

"Sense?" Reaching out and tugging at a woollen jumper as the other boy leans precariously forward towards the shallow lapping surf. "Remus - you're_ not making sense."_

"That's because you don't listen properly!" A smile. A strange, knowing smile... The wind blowing bits of fringe into his eyes...no glasses back then... hardly needed them...

"I don't understand you, you know..." A gentle tease. Always gentle with Remus... looks fragile enough sometimes that a laugh may break him... skin looking lilac from the slight moonlight.

"I know, Siri..." another distant smile, moving away backwards... an illusion that he is being pulled away and out of reach.

Remus looked at the water. If he had seen things from Sirius's perspective he would have realised how exactly he was echoing the position he had sat in during their game of Truth or Dare twenty years earlier. And as he rested by the lake he was replaying that very memory.

He was watching the sea. Just watching. He loved the way that she just crashed again and again onto the stones. She never gave up, even though it got her nowhere. But it was also incredibly melancholy, because it seemed to represent his own life. Constantly thrown into something against his will. At intervals sucked back and away from the one place he wanted to be and then thrown forward in a space of a few months where the Moon would seem to ease her grip on him... the wolf wouldn't be so virulent for a while, and even on moon nights he would still be Remus – a shy, intelligent teenage boy – deep down inside. Even during the change when the primal instincts crushed his humanity he felt less troubled and violent. In those times he would come out of himself... He would be happier and allow himself to integrate more fully with the rest of their peers; with normality. And then, just when he'd started to get used to it, the moon would pull harder again, and the vicious beast he had been since he was a tiny child would return with a fervent rage that he sometimes couldn't even contain when he was himself but the moon was close to full... He still couldn't.

And that night, two glorious weeks from the full, there was something in him that was stirring and clearly about to rear its ugly head...It felt like the wolf... but it wasn't. It was Sirius, in the most innocent sense. For the time they had spent at his parents' house, a week when it had been just the four of them, before everyone else arrived, he had felt so very differently. He already knew he was fond of the other boy - fond in a way that out shone his friendly adoration of James and Peter - and he had assumed for as long as he could remember that it was simply because of all of them, Sirius was the most alive; the most reckless and carefree... He was the one who made life-changing decisions on the spur of the moment, ran into danger with his eyes closed and a sixth sense to guide him. The part of Remus that wasn't human was deeply interested in the other boy. He fascinated a part of him that was best kept hidden. Two parts, in truth...

The wolf was the easier side. It benefited from the dark-haired boy's presence because it had a companion, someone it could identify with - even before he became an animagus. And the other part was the most dreaded part of any human being - the ever-fragile heart. Remus never did quite understand why the heart was said to be the home of all emotions, because most - and in particular the ones he felt in association with Sirius Black - seemed to dwell and cause havoc in his stomach. But he liked that feeling, if he was honest If it hadn't been for Sirius and his Alice-in-Wonderland view of logic, things could have been so different for each of them... And yet, Remus had only been glad of it for so short a time... the rest had always been so painful. But painful was the wrong word... it was more a case of senselessness. Of emptiness. Emptiness so much worse than pain, because pain it was possible to ignore and emptiness you were left with. And the emptiness was the space where Sirius had been... where he _should_ have been... where he should still...

There was a time when they sat on the beach and Remus watched and watched the Sea and he could have sworn Sirius thought he was going mad. So when they played a silly teenage game later on - or the others played and Remus sat and engrossed himself in his thoughts, paying as little attention as he could get away with to the game - Sirius went out of his way to grab Remus's attention. When the bottle landed on him and he was told to kiss someone, Sirius picked Remus. He supposed Sirius thought he was helping – providing a distraction... Lily had told him later how the other boy had been bending the conversation in that direction, bringing up things which would give randy 'Randa ideas about dares for him... It worked, just not on Remus. Remus was left feeling completely lost, because that silly little game smashed the security glass behind which he'd been keeping the parts of those feelings that were too complicated to handle at sixteen and nine weeks. He didn't want to feel like that about his best friend. He liked the _symptoms_ of feeling that way, he would admit that – at least to himself – but he never wanted to feel so much for that unruly child prodigy. Because once Sirius'd kissed him like that a little piece of the jigsaw fell into place and it was like a rubrics cube, eventually - once you've twisted it it's far too difficult to put things back to how they were.

So they sat there and Sirius threw himself upon him and mauled him in front of all of their friends and Remus was left to dust himself off and carry on as if nothing had happened. That was when Lily realised; she told him so. She could see a mile away what Sirius couldn't even see when they sat in his back garden at three o'clock in the morning, when the others had all gone to sleep in their various tents and we were all alone. Remus often wondered if the event of that evening had left him in shock. He certainly didn't feel as though he were living in the real world. He could still remember little insignificant things about it. The way the weight of the other boy's head felt in his lap when he made him lay back and look at 'his' star. The way his skin looked a cold blue in the moonlight... the little moonlight that there was. He could even remember staring up into the darkness and looking at those pinpricks of light and feeling so insignificant and small that he realised his own problems, whatever he was feeling, were little more than a sigh in a hurricane. He had no right to tell Sirius how he felt, because the other boy's obliviousness was something so rare in him that Remus knew he couldn't take it away... Just like then; sitting on the slope by the lake, he knew... Sirius had to learn his own way because it always was impossible to teach him.

~*~

The portrait hole slammed closed behind Harry as he strode into the Tower, his face a colour of prime beetroot, and drew attention from all over the common room. Ron and Hermione took one glance at each other and leapt out of their seats to follow him as he bolted up the stairs to the dorm.

"Harry? Are you alright?" Ron asked as they caught up with him, half way up the spiral staircase to the boys' dorm.

At his other side Hermione slipped a hand around his arm and tugged him closer. "Harry?"

Harry continued to walk up the stairs without responding, a small, bemused grin flickering repeatedly across his lips.

"Why are you bloody mute all of a sudden? What's happened?"

As one small mass they made their way into the fifth year dorms and Harry collapsed onto his bed, pulling a startled Hermione with him. 

"Harry!" she cried, blushing and sitting up quickly, "What on Earth is the matter with you?"

Harry merely gave a sigh that disintegrated into a giggle.

"HARRY?"

Another sigh. And then a loud squawk as Ron tossed a glass of cold water into his face, causing him to sit up abruptly, gasping. "Ron!"

"Harry, what's the matter with you?" Ron demanded, holding the jug threateningly over the glass, "You're acting all soppy and weird!"

"Gavin..." Harry beamed stupidly, his eyes looking oddly unfocused.

"What about him?" Hermione asked carefully.

"He, um..." Harry's colour returned to deep beetroot, "he um... he sort of... kissed me."

There was half a moment's silence before both of Harry's friends burst out in torrents of questions and shocked exclamations.

"He did what?"

"Oh Harry - did anyone see?"

"I told you not to bloody kiss him!"

"What sort of kiss was it?"

"He's gonna think you're a right tart, now, isn't he?"

"What did you do? Did you kiss him back, Harry?"

Harry took a deep breath and murmured "Well..."

"Come on - tell us!"

"I will if you give me a chance!" he protested.

"Don't look like it, what with you sitting there looking like half the Cherubim in Elysium have been using you as target practise!"

"Oh Ron! Give the poor boy a chance! Just because you've never had a serious crush on someone there's no need to spoil it for Harry!"

"Who says I haven't?" Ron returned defensively.

"Well have you?"

"Yes!"

"Fleur Delacour doesn't count."

"Who says I meant Fleur?"

"Well who else would it be?"

Ron scowled and his ears turned pink. "What about you? And Lockhart doesn't count, either!"

"I have!"

"What, your beloved Vikkie?"

"Shut up, Ron! I didn't go and see him, did I?"

"Only because your mum wouldn't let you!"

"It was not because of that!"

"Yes it bloody was!"

"I came to stay at yours!"

"_Ahem_. Excuse me? Can I carry on being excited about the fact someone just kissed me, please?"

Hermione gave Ron one last scowl and sat back next to Harry, straightening her robes primly. "Of course you can, Harry."

"Thanks."

"So you snogged him?" Ron shrugged with all the tact of a demolition ball, flopping down on his own bed. "When you've done it once you've done it. How can it be that different?"

"Oh - and when did you last kiss someone, Ron?" Hermione inquired in her best Little-Miss-Know-It-All voice. Ron and Harry both became rather subdued. She looked between them both carefully. Clearly, there was something she hadn't heard about. She'd find out - she always did. "But anyway, Harry - Gavin kissed you?"

"Yeah," Harry said, grinning. They both waited for him to elaborate. He didn't. He merely sat there grinning like a mad man.

"_When_ did Gavin kiss you?" Hermione prompted eventually.

"Just now..."

"And, um... where?"

"In the corridor... just in that little sort of alcove by the..."

"NO, _WHERE_, YOU BLOODY IDIOT!"

"Oh!" Harry's cheeks seemed to be working their way through every shade of pink in existence. "On, um... on the lips."

"On the lips?"

"Was there tongue?"

"RON!"

"What? Are you trying to say you don't want to know that?"

"I..."

"See? You sodding women faff around with all this nice, polite tactfulness and never get to the important bits! It's no bloody wonder you all talk so much - it must take a week to have a conversation about anything interesting!"

"Um... there wasn't any... 'tongue'..." Harry said a little loudly, as though trying to recapture their attention.

"Oh! Well what's the point in that, then?" Ron huffed, sounding disappointed.

"There's plenty of point, isn't there, Harry?" Hermione soothed, patting his shoulder.

"He held my hand, too-"

"Not everyone needs to concentrate on how far they can get their hand up a girl's blouse, you know!"

"Well, Gavin Cross certainly doesn't..."

"I said he... Oh never mind!" Harry stood up and made for the door.

"Where are you going?"

"Harry?"

"I'm going to talk to Remus. At least he'll listen!"

Hermione turned to the red-haired boy and scowled at him. "Look what you've done!"

"What _I've_ done? Well excuse me, but-"

Hermione stuck her nose in the air and followed Harry out, "Oh forget it, Ron, you're far too immature."

Harry was feeling more than a little offended by his friends' lack of interest. He made his way towards the Entrance Hall, sloped down the steps and headed towards the lake - the last place he'd seen Remus head. He wasn't even sure if Remus would still be there, but he needed to walk it off anyway. He and Gavin had remained hand in hand for the whole of the time they spent doing Harry's homework. When Harry had let go to catch a book that slipped off the table, his Seeker's instincts taking over, the other boy had reclaimed it the moment he had placed the book down. Gavin was a good teacher. He let Harry think and prompted him without giving him the full answers. Harry had really enjoyed himself - even more than at the Three Broomsticks - because the library was practically deserted and he effectively had Gavin all to himself.

When they left Gavin had wanted to help with Harry's books, but he had so many of his own to carry back, and Harry only had his bag with two in, that he had refused to allow it. Chivalry, it seemed, wasn't quite so dead after all. Even though Harry was sure it was meant to be towards the fairer sex...

Remus was definitely still sitting by the water's edge, but from the way he was slouching and resting his head on his forearms Harry was fairly certain he did not want to disturb him. He looked worryingly as though he were... _weeping_? No, surely not. Remus wasn't the sort of person to cry. He just... he wasn't and Harry was also incredibly sure that if he was crying - which he wouldn't be, because it was Remus and Remus didn't do things like that - he wouldn't want his godson interrupting him with his feeble gushing about Gavin Cross. Feeling somewhat concerned, Harry turned and headed back towards the castle.

He was about to drag his miserable self back up the marble staircase to the Tower to mope that no one cared about his blossoming love life, when he heard a calm drawl behind him. "What are you looking so morose about? Or have you just been told that we're allowed to speak after all?"

__

Oh no. Not now! Harry gave a small sigh_. What have I done to deserve this?_ "Hello, Draco."

"Ooh, we are feeling sorry for ourselves, aren't we?"

"No."

"Tut tut. Really, Harry, you're an appalling liar."

"I am not!"

"Well you can believe what you like, but you're fooling yourself and absolutely no one else."

"Yeah, whatever..."

The blond boy reached out and grasped his elbow. "I'm getting a strange sense of déjà vu, here, aren't you?" he said carefully. "Come on. Come and tell me."

"I'd rather not..."

"Why?" 

"Because it's personal and I don't think you need to know."

"You're putting me on a 'need to know' basis? After everything I told you? Well there's gratitude for you!" Draco replied, pouting a fraction.

"Trust me, Draco - you don't want to know this."

"Try me."

"Doesn't that somehow defeat the object?"

"Probably. But you are evidently very woebegone and I have some time on my hands and I'd rather like to bask in your misery by way of retribution for your display of 'spineless drippery' today."

"Oh I knew this was coming-"

"Well, best to get it out of the way, then, surely?"

"Sadist."

"I know. It comes with the rather fetching striped tie and matching ego. They are also giving an ounce of compassion to the most valued customers, and I feel like squandering it."

Harry couldn't help but smile at the other boy. He could be bizarrely self-effacing at times. "You're mental."

"And it has taken you four and a half years to realise this? My, you really are an oblivious little twit, aren't you?"

"Seriously, Draco, I'm not in the mood for this."

The other boy suddenly frowned a little, "What's the matter?"

"It's nothing - it's just that something really good happened to me and no one cares. Ron and Hermione are too busy squabbling and Remus really doesn't look like he needs company at the moment-"

"What about Black?"

"Um... no... I'd sort of need to prime Sirius a bit before I told him about this..."

"Then what about me?"

A silence stretched between them and Draco's eyes were fixed firmly on Harry's. He really couldn't look away. "You've already put up with enough from me."

"Likewise."

"Still, I'd really rather not. It's nothing personal, Draco, I just really don't..." Harry winced and gave a sigh, "You'll find out eventually."

"Then tell me now!"

"Look, I said no, alright?" Harry half-shouted in exasperation. "I don't want to talk about it any more anyway." He turned and continued up the stairs. The truth was, he did want to talk about it - he just didn't want to tell Draco that he was excited because Gavin had kissed him. He didn't want to hurt Draco by flaunting the fact that he liked someone else and he didn't want to jeopardise Gavin's safety in any way by stirring Draco's already eminent rage towards him.

Draco stood at the bottom of the marble staircase and watched him disappear onto the upper landing. He frowned. Had that stupid Welshman done something to upset him? He'd rip his teeth out if he had! _But he said something good has happened to him and no one cares, not that something bad has happened!_ This, it had to be said, was very true. _He probably just wanted to tell them how big and brave the lumpish thug was in the Three Broomsticks._

Draco snorted to himself and slowly began to back away and head down to the Dungeons. He'd show Cross that two could play at that game. Draco could give him twice the joy that idiot could, and for Harry's sake, he'd show him.

~*~

Sirius moved away from his window and onto his bed when it got dark. He lay gazing at the ceiling, his head resting on an arm folded behind it on the pillow. Remus had always been slightly odd, slightly quirky in his ways. He'd always run from feelings he didn't want to confront and yet always stood his ground when it came to his morals or scenarios most people would panic hopelessly in. That was part of the reason Sirius had always held him in such high regard. Remus was loyal. No only to his friends, but to his beliefs and his ideals. Remus had always acted upon what he thought was for the best and he usually had an acute perception of what that genuinely was. It was evidently these qualities that had made him a Gryffindor, for he was distinctly lacking in the house's trademark recklessness. 

Even as a little boy, Remus had been careful and reserved. Sirius had thought him strange, at first. He had been silent for most of the first day they had met him. He hadn't eaten on the train and simply picked at the feast. No one could coax more than a nod or shake of the head from him and they were starting to think he was actually mute. But that night, when Peter had begun to sob because he missed his mum, it had been the tiny, fair-haired child who had climbed out of bed and comforted him. Sirius had listened and listened, but Remus's voice had been so quiet that he hadn't heard a word of it. James, the useless git, had fallen asleep practically straight away, and the next morning - and indeed at any point after that - Peter would only say that Remus had "Talked to me about lots of things". That was a quality Remus seemed to have innately. He could soothe and comfort people simply by talking about random and obtuse things. Just his presence was comforting, because he was such a stable, routine person. He was far from unflappable - too easily embarrassed and deeply shy as a teenager - but he had a distinct serenity about him. A serenity Sirius had always adored.

He had thought he knew Remus better than anyone did. He was always more open with Sirius than he was with the others. They were all very close, that couldn't be disputed, but it had seemed an almost defiant fact that no matter how regularly Sirius and Remus were described as polar-opposites, they always managed to get on incredibly well. They complemented each other. When he had kissed Remus on the beach it had been as part of a game, but it had felt so very obvious afterwards. He wondered why he hadn't done that sooner, and yet it took a further four years for him to even try again - a feat that even left Sirius himself impressed with his reserve.

When he finally had decided to follow up his actions during the game it had been at James's stag night. Aside from all the obligatory puns there had been obligatory gallons of alcohol and Sirius had made sure Remus consumed more than his fair share and more than he was strictly aware of. The logic being that if he tried anything and Remus knocked him back he could a) blame it on the drink and b) stood a good chance that Remus wouldn't remember by the morning anyway. Except Remus had responded - quite enthusiastically, it had to be said - and Sirius had thrown caution merrily to the wind and got rather more carried away that he had intended to. 

Waking up the next morning in a flat he recognised and a lot less clothing than he would normally be wearing when he stayed there was quite a revelation. He realised that yes, apparently he was capable of embarrassment after all; that shame was like herpes - once you've been through it, it keeps on coming back - and that he really, really shouldn't have done that. From what he did remember of the previous night he was pretty sure he hadn't done anything wrong. In fact, he _prided_ himself on the fact that he hadn't! And yet, when Remus hadn't returned to the room - which served as both bedroom and living room in the tiny studio flat - after twenty minutes of his laying there in momentous silence he had climbed out of bed and got dressed. From previous experience he was fully aware of what that meant. 

He had been about to leave, feeling, oddly, like a kicked puppy, but he had stopped by the kitchen door, as the bathroom had been completely empty, and there Remus was. Hunched up on the work surface, clutching a mug of tea and gazing out of the window. 

__

"I'm going..."

Remus not looking at him. An awkward nod and a barely perceptible shrug. A feeling like the bottom had dropped out of his stomach.

"I'll... well I'll see you later..."

Nothing. Such a horrible, echo-y silence and then a tiny whispered "Okay." The way Remus hung his head... bowed with shame. Refusing to look away from the glass. Couldn't blame him, really... everyone always said not to get involved with friends. So clear that he thinks it was a mistake. Too obvious. Painfully so. Need to leave... leave before you say something idiotic.

The sound of the door slamming was not in his mind. He sat up sharply. Remus was back. Climbing off of the mattress he made his way to the bedroom door and descended the stairs. No Remus in the living room. _Must be in the kitchen..._ And so he was.

"You've been ages," he said, stopping in the doorway to watch the other man make tea.

"Sorry."

"I didn't mean you have to _apologise_, Moony..."

"Good, because I'm not sure why I did." There was no emotion in it, not even any annoyance. Just a simple statement. An almost clinical detachment. "It isn't as if you're my mother, really, is it? And in any case, I'm a grown up now, am I not?"

"What are you talking about?" _I don't understand you, Moo..._

Nothing new there, then. Good night.

"Wait - don't go straight to bed! I want to talk to you..."

"Conflicting interests, there, Siri. It's been a long day, I'm very, very tired and all I really have to say is goodnight." 

Sirius automatically stepped out of the way as Remus moved to the door. _But why?_ For the merest moment Remus seemed to hesitate, but then he ducked his head and left the room.

~*~

Harry was drifting on the brink of sleep, floating in the narrow margin between slowly blurring thought and dream state. The sounds of Ron's senseless mumbling and Neville's snores melted into images of the conversation at the dinner table, of baby Mathias and what had become of him, of Zagam Joiner and what might have persuaded him to turn to the Dark side, of Penemue Malfoy and how she must have felt as she fell down those stairs... Suddenly Harry was falling down a wide stairwell into endless darkness, grasping for purchase to prevent him plummeting into the abyss before him and something reached out and caught his arm...

He woke with a jolt and found the hand was still clamped around his wrist. Too alarmed to cry out he merely gasped and backed away.

"Harry!" a voice whispered urgently, "Shhh - don't panic, it's me; it's Draco."

"Draco?" Harry blinked and rubbed his face, trying to alleviate some of the drowsiness. "What are you doing here? You'll get lynched if someone wakes up!"

"By those idiots?" Draco replied with a snort, "I hardly think so. Come on, get up."

"Get...? What for? It's..." he squinted at the watch Remus bought him for his birthday, holding it close to his face, "It's a quarter to two!"

"I know. Come on - you have to come, quickly."

Harry gave a groan and clambered out of bed, reaching for his dressing robe.

"Here." Draco held out Harry's glasses and wand for him to take.

"Thanks. This had better be worth it, though, Draco... I'm really tired."

"It is. You have to see it. It's amazing."

"What is?" Harry yawned, closing the door behind them, carefully.

Draco grinned at him in the dim glow from a lamp further down the steps, "You'll see. Come on."

Harry allowed himself to be led down the stairs and across the school towards the South Tower, whose upper rooms were uninhabited and stocked with furniture from other parts of the castle. They climbed the stairs to the very top and out onto the flat turret roof. The air was cool, but far from cold and even in his pyjamas and robe Harry was comfortably warm.

"So what now?" he asked, staring around at the empty space.

"Look," Draco instructed, turning him around and leading him to the edge.

Harry looked and over three hundred feet below, scattered across the moon-drenched lawns were nearly a dozen unicorns. They cantered around playing and a couple of gold-tinted young appeared to be racing each other across the flats. For a moment Harry was speechless, but he eventually managed a breathless "_Wow_..." and the blond boy gave a small laugh and said:

"I told you it was worth it."

"How did you know?" Harry asked in rapt bewilderment, "I mean... _wow_...!"

"I used to come up here a lot. They like moonlight. The moon is so bright tonight I knew they would be here."

Harry tore his eyes from the enchanting spectacle below. "Draco?" he said quietly, watching as the moon light also illuminated the other boy's translucent skin. Draco continued to gaze down at the horses, then he slowly turned to face the Gryffindor beside him.

"Yes?"

"I wanted to... to say I'm sorry. About earlier..."

The blond boy's silver eyes went blank, the briefly lingering wonder snapping into expressionlessness. He made a small sound to confirm that he was listening and turned back to the unicorns.

"I-in the Three Broomsticks... with Gavin... and..."

"What you do in your spare time is your prerogative," he said stiffly.

"I know, but Gavin just assumed you were there to have a go at me," Harry tried to explain, "He doesn't know - I haven't said anything - I wouldn't..."

"No, of course you wouldn't," Draco nodded, continuing to stare off into the distance. "You're good at 'not saying anything', aren't you? That really was a spectacular example of just how fantastic you are, in fact."

"What did you expect me to do?" Harry replied quietly, with a guilty feeling that there was plenty he could have done, "We're not supposed to be friends, it would have been pretty obvious we don't hate each other if I had defended you, wouldn't it?"

"Oh yes, of course - you're absolutely right."

"Really?" Harry asked uncertainly, confused by the other boy's amicable tone.

"Of course! We wouldn't want anything to jeopardise plans, would we?" he said lightly.

"N-no...no, of course not - I'm glad you... er... understand." Even as he said it, Harry felt there was something quintessentially improbable about the statement. For Draco to understand something that went against his interests was about as likely as... well, as likely as Sirius doing the same.

And then the answer came. "Of course; I understand how terribly unfortunate it would be for your charming new beau, with his appalling grammar, limited vocabulary and way with words akin to an inebriated Scrubwart to realise you were actually consorting with the enemy."

"My... _beau_? Draco, Gavin is not my 'beau' or my 'boyfriend' or my 'bloke' or anything else that begins with 'B' that happens to imply we're in a relationship!" Harry protested, his face warming rapidly. _Not yet..._

"Would 'lover' be more appropriate?" the other boy snapped, casting narrowed eyes towards him. "It certainly appeared imminent this afternoon."

"Lover? For God's sake, Draco - I'm fifteen, not fifty! A 'lover' is something adults have, not teenage boys! Christ..."

Draco merely shook his head and pulled out his cigarettes.

"Draco, what I do in my spare time is up to me - you said that yourself," Harry reminded him, "And if I..." he trailed off and took a deep breath, his eyes closed, "Draco, I _like_ him. We get on really well and perhaps I'm doomed to make an idiot of myself, but perhaps things will be alright and I don't want you to hate him because of it. And I don't want you to hate me, either! I wish I felt the same for you, but things aren't that simple - I can't change it... and I don't want to pretend and waste your time. _Our_ time... And I know you probably think I'm having a good laugh at your expense, don't you? But you're wrong. I don't. I just worry about you and I feel guilty for putting you through this..."

Draco continued to stare off in the direction of the family of unicorns.

"Are you even listening to me?"

"Yes."

"Then for God's sake, please just say something! Call me an idiot, tell me you understand, just don't ignore me..."

Draco turned back to him and Harry wished he hadn't. The look in his eyes was so cold and hollow that he almost recoiled from it. "What do you want me to say, Harry? 'Oh I see, I wish you all the best for the future and I'd love to be bridesmaid at the wedding' just so you feel better? Would you like me to hex one of you into the middle of next week from sheer jealousy? Or perhaps I should just throw myself off the tower right now?"

To Harry's horror, the Slytherin climbed up on the turreted wall, both arms stretched wide, and teetered on the edge.

"Draco! What are you doing? Draco get down - please!"

He spun around, wobbling precariously. "Why? What do I have to lose?"

"Everything!"

"No - that's precisely it: I don't."

"Draco, please - you're scaring me half to death - please get down!" Harry pleaded, holding out his hand for Draco to take.

The blond boy gave a laugh and jumped back down onto the roof. "You don't honestly think I'd jump, do you? It'd be far too messy."

Harry sunk down against the stone. "You idiot, Malfoy. You bloody idiot..." That had possibly been the most idiotic and frightening thing he had ever seen anyone do. He was so certain the other boy would fall - deliberately or otherwise - and the landing would have been on jagged rocks hundreds of feet below. No one could have survived that.

"Did I scare you?"

"Yes. You know you did, you prat." Harry took off his glasses and rubbed his face. He was shaking.

"Well now you know how I feel every time you run off gallivanting after evil overlords." Carefully, brushing the dust away from the stone with the hem of Harry's robe, he sat down beside him.

"It's not like I have a choice, is it? And do you bloody mind!" he yanked the dusty robe hem away from the other boy.

"No, not at all – it's your robe. But, anyway - there's always a choice."

Harry made a small noise that may have been a snort of comic disbelief, but he said nothing.

"Harry," Draco's voice suddenly seemed to echo off the walls, "we agreed to be friends, didn't we?"

"Yeah…" Harry replied slowly.

"Then talk to me."

"Not this again!"

"Yes, _this_ again, because you are quite obviously going through something quite drastic and I'd like to do my duty as a so-called friend and be there for you!"

Harry looked at the Slytherin in bewilderment. This was seriously, seriously unexpected. But, he supposed, he should have learned to expect the unexpected from Draco over the past couple of weeks. "Draco... look, I could tell you this I mean, I would if I thought you could help me, but-"

"How do you know I can't?"

"Well... " Harry took a deep breath and rubbed at his hair absently, "The thing is, I don't exactly need help... I could do with some advice, but I know that you can't help me with that, and besides I couldn't expect you to help me with this... It would be... _insensitive_."

The other boy said nothing for a moment, but then, in a slightly too calm voice, he murmured, "It's Gavin Cross, isn't it? Something has happened and you don't want to tell me about it because you're a kind, considerate Gryffindor and you're too thoughtful to risk breaking my poor little heart."

"Draco... I just...you've got enough on your mind and I really didn't want to tell you because I don't want you to feel bad about it... "

"Spare me the pity and just tell me what happened, Potter."

Harry hesitated, unsure whether he was doing the right thing, but the expectant look on the other boy's face was sufficient prompt to do so. "He... I mean, we'd been in the library for ages... I... God, I dunno, I just like spending time with him... He's just really nice and friendly... and... well, he held my hand and when we were walking back he just pulled me out of the main corridor and... " Harry's voice sank to a near-mumble, "hesortofkissedmeg'bye... "

Draco wasn't aware he even knew some of the expletives that seemed to stream through his head at that moment. "How... sweet... " he said through clenched teeth, forcing himself to smile.

"He is... " Harry smiled, blushing, "He's one of the nicest people I've ever met."

"Good for you." _Die! Die, you bastard die!_ He began to meticulously plan Cross's demise in his head before he even realised he was doing it. _No! Stop. No killing the opposition. Competition makes life fun. Deep breaths and remember – competition makes life fun, competition makes life fun, competition... is an insufferable pain in the neck when it's standing in your way, for pity's sake! I'll kill him! No. No, remember – no killing, humiliation is the key! Yes... I'll show the bullish git... I'll... _

"Draco? Are you alright?"

"Hm? What?"

Harry's eyes were wide as he looked at him. "I knew I shouldn't have told you! God look, I'm sorry, just forget I told you, okay?" 

"I'm fine." _What was that curse that... hmm... Flaciditum? No... it was something like that, though... I'll look it up._

"Are you sure?"

"I'm fine, I said! So... what was it... like? Did you kiss him properly, or-"

"Well it was only a little one... "

"How little, Harry?"

"Just sort of... um... "

"Show me."

"_What_? You mean... ?"

"On the back of your hand, you idiot."

"Oh!" Harry glanced at him nervously, then pressed his hand against his lips for a count of two.

"That's it?" _You're a dead and impotent boy, Cross_.

"Well no one's ever kissed me before!" Harry said with bashful indignation.

__

Bastard, bastard, bastard! "Well that's hardly something to write home about, is it?"

Harry looked at him with an almost quivering lip and asked, "S-so you don't think he likes me, then?"

The blond boy gazed back at him and realised that he really couldn't put the sickeningly soppy idiot through any worse than that. It would probably leave him scarred for life if he said no... So he took a breath and conceded, "I'd say he's interested to some degree, otherwise he wouldn't have kissed you-" _bastard!_ "-or... held your hand, would he?" _Why, why, why did I insist on knowing? WHY?_ The brilliant smile that spread across Harry's face, followed by a dreamy silence, had all the potential to leave Draco scarred himself. It wasn't fair it should be he who left that look on Harry's face! Not some semi-coherent prat from some over-blown province no one in their right mind ever went to!

"Do you believe in love at first sight?"

Inwardly, Draco screamed very loudly. "I don't know," he managed, wanting to grab the other boy and shake some sense into him. This was not how it should be! Couldn't Harry see what he was missing out on? 

"I never used to, but... " Harry gave an irritating little giggle that made Draco want to slap him around the back of his head.

"Are you trying to say you think you're... _in love_ with Cross?" he asked, willing Harry not to say yes because if he did he might just have to throttle him.

"No!" Harry said quickly and blushing so brightly that Draco fancied he could actually feel the heat coming off the other boy's face. "I just like him... but I wondered if... well, he's really keen on me and I've always noticed how he used to smile at me in the corridors... I was just wondering if you thought he might... _y'know_... "

__

Oh you sad, pathetic child! "Harry, Gavin Cross is sixteen years old. He is male. He is not feeling with anything remotely in the region of his ribcage."

"So you think he fancies me, then?" Harry asked hopefully.

__

Deep breaths, Draco, don't let it get to you. "I would say that was pretty obvious as half the school is woefully besotted with you."

"Not boys, though!"

"Harry, have you ever met Creepy Colin Creevey?"

"Colin doesn't fancy me!" Harry laughed, but quickly sobered when Draco merely cocked a knowing eyebrow at him. "Oh my God... you aren't joking, are you? Oh my God! Urgh! He looks about ten!"

"He's almost as tall as you."

"So? You're almost as tall as me!"

"Are you saying I look like a ten year old?"

"No... "

"I should hope not, Potter."

Harry laughed, "I'm not!"

"Good, I like you too much to have to torture you to death."

Instantly, Harry stopped laughing. "I... I forgot about that for a moment... God I'm sorry, Draco! I just totally forgot about it!"

"Harry, I asked."

"I know! But I shouldn't have told you I mean, I know how you... feel, don't I? I'm really sorry!"

Draco turned to face him. "Potter, there is no need to get into some stupid guilty panic about it. We agreed to be friends, didn't we? As a friend... Well I am obliged to listen."

"If we're friends why do keep calling me 'Potter' again, all of a sudden?"

__

Because it provides some sort of detachment? "Because when you're acting like an idiot it's easiest to maintain some sort of authority over your tragic, lovelorn brain when I don't call you Harry."

"But I don't understand how you can sit there and listen to me going on about him when... well... when you feel the way you do. I couldn't do it... It would drive me mad."

"I know."

"Are you going to be alright?"

"Of course."

"No, really, are you going to be okay?"

"Well, now you come to mention it, I might ask Snape for a pass so I can obtain some good books on quick and painlessly fatal poisons from the Restricted Section."

"Don't even joke about that, Draco, it's not remotely funny."

"Oh go and borrow someone's sense of humour, will you?"

"Whose? 'Cause the only person who would find that funny is Snape. Or Sirius, possibly."

"Oh give me a little credit, will you? I am absolutely nothing like your godfather!" Draco told him insolently, folding his arms and scowling.

"Oh yes you are: impertinent, sarcastic, obstinate, bossy... "

"Pick all my positive points why don't you?" 

"... irrepressible, rash, brave... "

"Alright, now you're making me sound like a Gryffindor... "

"... funny, intelligent, interesting... "

"Ah, now we're moving away from the Gryffindor thing and getting somewhere! Keep them coming, Potter, keep them coming my ego could do with a little polishing, come on... "

"... smug, arrogant... "

"Yet more good points... "

"I can't believe you call those good points!"

"But of course! What's the point in being a child prodigy in bastardom if you can't revel in it?"

"You're not that evil!" Harry scoffed, giving Draco a light hearted shove. "You're just pretending to be. I'd bet that on the quiet you sponsor bunnies at some local sanctuary and collect blown-glass ornaments."

"I do no such thing!" Draco scowled back, his bottom lip protruding, "Bunnies! I'll have you know I kicked a squirrel today."

"You did _what_?" Harry asked in horror.

"I kicked a squirrel. What's that look for? I was annoyed and… well I barely touched it, actually, but that's not the point – I would have done! And I hate blown glass."

"You wicked bugger! The poor defenceless squirrel'd done nothing to you!"

"Ah – you see, I am evil! The Great Evil Draco Malfoy – the grass dies where I tread, I cast the terror-shadow of doom, small woodland creatures quake in fear of my wrath!"

"You big idiot…"

"Well," Draco returned, with mock-bashfulness, "I don't like to brag…"

Harry burst into laughter in spite of himself. Draco was quite amusing when he wanted to be. "Why can't you be like this all the time?"

"Like what?"

"Nice. Friendly – _likeable_!"

"I don't know… I don't notice the difference, myself."

"Well it's there," Harry assured him. "Sometimes you're a total git, and other times you're… really good company. Fun… someone I could enjoy spending time with…"

"Oh really? And what would lover boy have to say about that, I wonder?"

"Gavin? He's not-"

"Yeah, yeah…"

"But… I mean, I don't think he'd mind at all. No one's really supposed to know we're friends, are they?"

"You fall back on that answer every single time!"

"I don't!"

"You do!"

"Well it's only because it's true, I mean – the reason no one's supposed to know is to keep you safe! It's not for my benefit, is it?"

"Are you sure you aren't ashamed to be associated with the little Death Eater turn-coat grass?"

"I couldn't care less! I associate with a half-giant, I live with an ex-convict and a werewolf and my best friends are, in your words, 'a pauper and a Mudblood'. I'd say discrimination at this stage would be a bit futile."

The blond boy gave a snort and smirked at him, shaking his head. "So you accept the charity case like a good little Gryffindor."

"Not at all. The 'charity case' came to me, remember? I was a git to the 'charity case'…"

"The charity case deserved it."

"Yeah, you did, but you've apologised, now. I can accept that much – although I wouldn't expect the others to be quite as willing."

"I never said I wanted their forgiveness," Draco pointed out sullenly.

"Well, that's lucky," Harry grinned, "because I think you'll have to save Ron's life and take up Muggle Studies before those two will accept you!"

"I wanted to do Muggle Studies, actually!" the other boy informed him triumphantly.

"_You_? Wanted to do… _Muggle Studies_?"

"I was curious. But I never bothered asking my father as there was no point. He would never have allowed it."

"Why doesn't that surprise me in the least?" Harry asked, frowning. "The more I hear about him, the more I'd like to punch his lights out."

"Well, when you've been brought up that way and you don't know any different it's all part and pass of every day existence. My whole life has been plotted out time and time again to fit his plans. Very little of this is down to my choices. Until now, any way."

"I admire you, you know," Harry told him honestly, reaching out and squeezing his shoulder, "because I've always just gone along with what was expected of me and you've really had to go against the grain and that must take a lot of guts. A lot more than just being swept along by The Bigger Picture…"

"I'd prefer it if you didn't touch me."

"What? Why not? I mean, you always say that, but _why?_"

"Because it makes it worse."

"Oh…"

"Look, don't start worrying over it, now-"

"I'm not, but I dunno… I'm just like that with everyone; I touch my friends like that all the time. The only time the Dursleys would touch me was to hit me, so…"

"Well I'd rather you didn't make up for it through me."

"Drac, I'm sorry, don't get-"

"I am not upset, my name does not finish at the 'c' and you should definitely stop apologising."

"Sorry."

The blond boy rolled his eyes, "Hopeless…" 

"Draco, look, I just really want to be able to treat you like I would any of my other friends. I don't want to have to single you out over things like this."

"Well I'm sorry, Harry, but when you do that it just…" the other boy's voice fell to a murmur, "I just can't cope with that much. I can manage sitting here and I can manage listening to your… lovelorn woes… but I can't bear you touching me. You can't even begin to understand how it feels. I'm sorry, but I'd really rather you stopped."

"But-"

"Harry, listen to me, I am a teenage boy – rather like your little bit of rough but somewhat more sophisticated, if you can comprehend such a thing – and I have enough problems with my hormones without you encouraging them. Is that clear enough, or should I embarrass myself further?"

"I… um…"

Draco gave a slightly defeated sigh and pushed his hair out of his face. "I can't get used to you touching me. Do you understand that? I can't allow myself to. It's easier to isolate myself and retain my equilibrium that way. If your natural affection is oppressed by it then I am really very sorry, but you can call it a lesson in self control."

"But why would you want to isolate yourself?"

"Are you thick or something?"

"You keep telling me so, so I think I must be."

"Yes, you are thick. You're completely bloody thick and you're also about to start seeing the missing-link of a Keeper of the Ravenclaw Quidditch team! How hard is it to see why I don't want to make things any worse for myself than they already are?"

"Draco, you don't have to be here – or do this! You don't have to listen to me talking about him…"

"I want to," Draco replied softly, frowning and wrapping his arms around himself. "This is what friends do, isn't it? Not that I would know, of course, because Slytherins don't have friends."

"You don't generally fall in love with your friends, though, do you?" Harry replied equally gently, wishing more than ever that he could feel the same way. It was dreadful seeing the other boy so strained.

"No, but you can't help who you… _fall_ _for_, either." He leaned his head back against the stone wall and closed his eyes, "Allow me this, will you? Just let me manage my own way. I know myself better than you do and I am the one who knows how much I can cope with. If it all gets too much for my tragic little soul to take I assure you, you will be first to know."

"Alright, as long as you do, but I still feel massively guilty about it…"

"_You_ have an unfortunate knack of making things harder for yourself. All that guilt and responsibility you keep claiming – leave some for everyone else!" Draco teased, smiling slightly.

"When everyone thinks you're 'the saviour of all men', as Gavin reckons I am, you sort of just assume the role. I've sort of got used to it," Harry shrugged, leaning his own head back against the stonework and turning slightly to look at him.

"When he says 'saviour of all men' he's not talking about The Boy Who Lived, you know."

"No? So what's he talking about?"

"He's talking about The Boy Who Lived to Make People Think Bad Thoughts."

Harry blushed and elbowed him, "Stop it!"

The blond boy elbowed him back sharply. "That hurt, you menace!" he pouted sullenly. "You're just not content with the emotional pain, are you? You insist on physical trauma, too! And it's _true_, anyway."

"I don't make anyone think 'bad thoughts'!" Harry protested, rubbing his side. There was sardonic smirk from the other boy and Harry suddenly doubted his own statement. _Oh my life… _"Could you, sort of… promise _never_ tell me what that look means, please?"

"Look?"

"Yes! That… that _look_!"

"I don't know what you mean."

"You bloody do, you git! It's the look that really makes me wonder just what's going on in your head once the lights go out!"

Draco gaped at him in graceless indignation. "Harry James Potter!" he gasped eventually, "I cannot believe you would allude to something so vulgar! That is absolutely disgusting!"

"That was a delicate way of saying it, compared to what I've heard the Twins say."

"Well I would expect it of them, but _you_! I thought you were a civilised human being! I will have you know, that should I be so primitive and lascivious – which I am not – the chances of you appearing in any bawdy fantasies are now considerably diminished!"

"What a shame…" Harry chuckled, delighted at the indignation in the other boy's voice, "but I don't believe a bit of it."

"Are you not only implying that I indulge auto-eroticism on a regular basis, but also that I _lie_ about it?" he practically squealed, positively seething with emotion, now.

"Oh no, Draco, not in the slightest, but I'd bet my broomstick you're pinker than monkeys bum at the moment."

The other boy's glowering faltered. "I am not," he replied, pouting.

"Rubbish. I bet you're really blushing. It would give it all away, you know."

"I am not blushing!"

"Yes you are, I can tell."

Draco gave him a stubborn scowl and snatched up his hands, pressing one to his own face and the other to Harry's. "You see?" he demanded, "I am no hotter than you!"

After a moment of Harry's silence the blond boy seemed to realise what he was doing and withdrew his hands carefully. The green eyes in front of him were fixed on his and he wanted to look away but found that he honestly couldn't. "You've got really soft skin," the Gryffindor mumbled, "better than Hermione's…"

"I… I…" Of all the times for his voice to desert him, Draco's had to do it now. The part of his mind that seemed to be observing the situation remotely cursed it very loudly. "I… suppose I'll take that as, um… a… um…" The remote part of Draco's mind hacked at it's wrists with the squirrel he had kicked earlier. _WHY NOW? WHY? _"…a condiment. Compliment! I'll take it as a _compliment_. Perhaps."

Harry gave him a strange, crooked smile, which Draco couldn't identify as either amusement or endearment. Either way he could do with a stray lightening bolt of the Gods to kill him where he sat at that precise moment.

"I meant it as a compliment."

__

Wrong blasted lightening, you sadists!

"Do you mind if I…?" Harry outstretched his hand and brushed his fingers against the other boy's face.

Draco's breath got clogged somewhere in his chest. _No! I can't die! I can't suffocate from shock _now!

"You've got honestly great skin."

Draco made a humiliating gurgle before he managed to reply, "Thanks." _I hate you. I hate all of you. Why pick on me now?_

"Drac?"

"Hm?"

"Why did you bring me here?"

Draco took a deep breath and mentally Spell-o-Taped his composure back together. _No more touching – ever._ "You were stressed out earlier," he forced himself to shrug, "I wanted to cheer you up."

"Thanks."

"No problem."

"It worked."

Draco felt a flutter of pride in his stomach. "Good."

Harry yawned and settled back down against the wall.

"Are you tired? We could go back inside, if you'd like."

"Nah," Harry yawned again, "it's a nice night. Might as well stay here for a while…"

Draco merely nodded and looked up at the stars above them. He liked the stars. They were so big and yet they seemed so small. They gave him hope, because they weren't what they seemed. To the worlds beneath them they appeared tiny, so harmless and delicate, but in truth they were catastrophically powerful and incomprehensibly huge. Maybe they were an example. Draco felt so small and inconsequential in the eyes of the world, but he felt as though he could be so much more if people looked closer. Until they did, though, he would remain small and innocent and fascinate from afar.

He watched as they moved above him, as the moon shifted across the sky. It didn't occur to him that this must have taken a considerable length of time and he didn't even notice when Harry's weight shifted to his shoulder. Harry was asleep, his glasses knocked squiff and his hair splayed over the Slytherin's robe. When Draco turned to look he saw the moonlight and the minuscule reflections of the stars in his glasses. It somehow seemed more eloquent than anything he could have put into words himself. He was really rather sure he needed some sleep; desperately so. But he couldn't move. After all he said to the other boy earlier, having him there, the contact and the warmth, felt so safe. It was nearly everything he wanted. It would be so very easy, in that moment, to wrap his arms around the other boy or press his lips to the top of his head. But he respected Harry too much to abuse his innocent trust like that, even if Harry would never know.


	8. Chapter VIII Nobody Said it Was Easy

****

Chapter ~ VIII

Nobody Said It Was Easy

__

" I hate the world today; you're so good to me I know, but I can't change…" Meredith Brooks

****

Draco stopped outside the classroom and braced himself for the imminent encounter. Harry had offered – begged – to accompany him, but Draco had refused. Of course, having Harry there would have provided a verifiable witness should things turn nasty, but on the other hand Draco had been suffering enough in classes that didn't require an ounce of concentration, so he didn't relish the idea of flambéing the Defence teacher because he was concentrating more on his godson.

Taking a final calming breath he opened the door. Black was pacing inside, muttering to himself rapidly. He was tapping the index and middle fingers of the right hand into the palm of his left hand and he was obviously rather flustered. It was not a reassuring sight.

"Good afternoon," Draco said clearly, his voice calculatedly cool and detached.

The teacher immediately stopped pacing and whirled around to face him. "You're…" he looked at the clock, "…exactly on time..." he finished slowly, as though trying to validate the information against his preconceptions.

"You expected otherwise?" Draco asked, allowing the merest hint of arrogance to slip into his voice, just to test the water.

"Well, yes actually; I expected your lack of manners and disregard for the rules to extend to punctuality, now you come to mention it."

"Would that lack of submission to the rules be of the same kind that you flouted with relish when learning to become an animagus?" the blond boy returned with a smirk.

__

Black scowled at him, "Who told you that?" he demanded.

"Professor Dumbledore."

Black rolled his eyes and gave a loud huff, "Well you'd better keep that to yourself, otherwise you might not have much free time this year, alright?"

"If you give _me_ regular detention it will mean you will lose an awful lot of your own spare time, though, won't it, _sir_?" Draco pouted innocently.

"No," the man snorted with a grin, "I'm sure Mr Filch has got plenty of uses for you. I'd suggest Hagrid, too, but I wouldn't like to put a mate through that."

"I'm touched," Draco replied, forcing himself to remain civil, "but isn't friendship a slightly strong term for the teacher-pupil relationship? Some may say improper, even."

"Very clever. That's tomorrow night you've just booked up," Black told him, folding his arms across his chest. "Any more smart-arse comments you'd like to get out of the way? A little thirty second amnesty. I hear there's a girls' toilet on the second floor with an unfortunate flooding problem, apparently."

Draco clenched his teeth. Sirius smirked and ticked himself a point on the scoreboard in his head. "Right then, Malfoy, I think the best place to start is you telling me what you can do."

There was a whoosh of gold and Sirius suddenly found that the boy in front of him was in a ball of very real flames. He took a long step back and cleared his throat.

"Right, I see."

"There's more," the boy grinned smugly. The flames disappeared and suddenly he cried "Catch!"

Automatically, Sirius cupped his hands to do so, but snatched them back as he realised he was being tossed a sphere of fire. The ball vanished in mid-air, long before he would have touched it. Nonetheless…

"YOU BLOODY FUCKING IDIOT! WAS THAT SUPPOSED TO BE CLEVER? DO YOU REALISE WHAT YOU COULD'VE JUST DONE?" He cradled his hands under his arms.

"I can control my pyroclasty, it would not have touched you."

"Really? Well either you're lying now or you lied when you said what happened in town was an accident!" Sirius half-shouted, his blue eyes blazing. "So which is it, Malfoy? Which would you rather have a year of detention for?"

_Remain calm. Do not take the bait. Remain calm. Remain calm. Remain calm. _"What happened then was an accident. When I consciously control it that is precisely what I do – I control it. I don't _need_ these lessons. I am only taking them because I have been forced to," he said coldly.

"'I am only taking them because I've been forced to' – you're full of it, kid," the man mimicked, smirking and folding his arms across his chest.

At that point, something unprecedented happened. Some small part of Draco's restraint broke, and before he could stop himself, he burst out, "_I'm_ full of it? Look at yourself, Black! Harry may think the sun shines out of your behind, but I don't! What on Earth possessed Dumbledore to let you teach anyway? You're more immature than half of the first years! It's pathetic!"

Sirius stared at him for a moment. Draco felt sure that that was it – he was going to be fed alive to the giant squid – but he stared back at the man defiantly, a picture of unreadable calm. In his mind, however, it was quite a different story. _Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Stupid, stupid moron fool pratting pillock! He's going to kill you now. You're going to die a virgin!_ In fact, Draco was so caught up in his internal panic that he didn't initially realise that Sirius was actually starting to grin. Until the grin became a very loud guffaw. Draco stared at him like he was mad, which, quite frankly, he was now more or less certain Black was.

"What are you so amused about?" he asked cautiously.

Black tried to calm his mirth. "You!" he choked out.

"_Me_?"

"God, yes – you are the ballsiest little git I've met in his place!"

Draco blinked at him. "What?"

Black took a deep breath, but he was still grinning. "Half the sprogs here are either scared stiff of me so act all nice or just really like me, for some reason. You just blatantly hate my guts and couldn't give a toss if I know! It's bloody fantastic for a change!"

_You are completely out of your tree, aren't you? _"Right."

There was a few moments silence before Black spoke again, still half grinning. "You know what I reckon?"

"No."

"That's alright, it was a rhetorical question. No, I don't reckon I need to teach you how to control _that-_" he gestured vaguely with his hands "-I just think you need a hand with _anger management_."

Draco stared at him as though he were stupid. "Do you know _nothing_ about my family? Malfoy males are known for their explosive tempers and their astounding ability to control them."

"Yeah, well, I don't suppose most of your family cause fire-squalls when they get a bit irked, do they?" Black sat down on a table just behind him. "It's about anger management, trust me. And fuck_ me_, if there's anyone in this school who knows about anger management it's me!"

_I have no intention of doing either._ "You've had lessons in 'anger management' yourself?" _Weren't particularly successful, were they?_

"Yeah… after I nearly killed Snape."

"You nearly killed _Snape_?"

Black gave a sigh and his eyes seemed to cloud over. He planted both hands firmly on the table either side of his legs and explained, "You know that Professor Lupin and I are old, old friends, I presume? Well, when we were here Remus was the smallest, shiest, most studious kid in the year and almost everyone used to pick on him. Even Ravenclaws… But he never, ever retaliated – he's like that, reckons he gets what he deserves because of what he is and that sort of crap – and Snape was one of the worst. He's the sort of spineless bastard who picks on the vulnerable, and once you've seen a fifteen year old boy practically reduced to tears by a bunch of third years that were as big as he was, you can pretty safely assume that 'Vulnerable' is his middle name. Actually, his middle name's Jetrel, but that's neither here nor there. 

"Anyway, at the start of our sixth year Snape and your uncle Malphas took it just that bit too far and Remy still did fuck all. The amount of fights I had with the scum who used to pick on him… Bastards! But after that I decided that I'd had enough of seeing the evil little fuckers starting on him and in a rather idiotic attempt to help Remus get his own back I told Snape where he was and how to get there. The fucking nosy tosser trundled off to go and find out why Remus disappeared so often and came face to face with a werewolf. If it hadn't been for Jamesy – that's Harry's dad –"

"I know."

"- Snape would have probably been mauled. And I would have been locked up, Remus stuck in some fucking One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest institution and Snape would either be dead or a werewolf himself." Black almost seemed to spit out the words contemptuously, and Draco tilted his head to the side slightly, listening.

"What's 'One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest'?" he asked.

"Muggle book – and film. Got Jack Nicholson in it – he's a Muggle actor and he's fucking brilliant. It's about this mental institution and this guy who gets himself sectioned so he doesn't have to go to prison. Basically, all the patients are treated like animals. It's bloody frightening." Black shuddered slightly and shook his head, "When I think that I could've got Remus shut up in one of those places…" He stared blankly at the floor and Draco continued to stand uneasily in front of him; three and a half minutes later Black still hadn't moved, but he was frowning. Draco felt distinctly awkward.

"_Ahem_."

Nothing.

"Black?" he ventured, a little more loudly.

This time there was a slight stirring in the man before him and then he suddenly seemed to snap his head up and looked at the boy with colourless eyes that slowly returned to their natural blue. "I didn't mean to…" he mumbled barely audibly, "…I only wanted to protect him…he deserves the same respect as everyone else…couldn't keep letting them get away with it…"

Draco had the unnerving feeling that whomever Black thought he was talking to, it wasn't one of his students. "Mr Black? Should I get Madam Pomfrey?"

"Pomfrey…" Black gave himself a small shake and echoed, "_Pomfrey_? No – no, sorry… I was just… er… having a bit of a moment… Fucking Dementors…" He took a deep breath and ruffled a hand through his shaggy crop of hair. "What were we talking about?"

Draco hesitated for a moment, unsure what to say. Did he mean before he had started rambling about Lupin or before he had had his little trance? "Your childhood," he offered finally.

"Ah… yeah, that was it… Why was I talking about my childhood, anyway?" He frowned. "Anger management – yeah…"

"Were you particularly close to Lupin?" Draco found himself asking, suddenly.

Black looked at him for a moment, then said, "At school? Yeah, I suppose we were; but the Marauders were all close. James was my best mate, but I was Remy's, if you see what I mean. Remy was Peter's… We got closer as we got older, really. After the Snape incident, bizarrely… things couldn't get much worse after that, so they went to the other extreme… Hang on – why am I telling you this?"

"I asked."

"I know you _asked_, doesn't mean I have to tell you though, does it? And why would you even want to know?" Black asked, eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"I was just curious," Draco replied, irritation building again. "I just wondered what would possess two fully-grown men to live together in that pokey cottage with a teenage boy, that's all. Why Lupin never got married or anything… I supposed there must've been some sort of story, that's all."

Black seemed to tense and looked at him strangely; "No story. Remus isn't exactly the marrying sort, I've spent the most important chunk of my life locked away and we grew up living in the same room, so it's not really any different. All Remus and I have these days is each other and Harry, and it was Dumbledore's decision, anyway. Why? What're you trying to suggest?"

"Nothing," Draco said, truthfully. "I was just asking, that's all."

"Yeah, well – good. Because some things are nothing to do with anyone else."

Draco gave a tiny, inward smirk and muttered, "Quite."

~*~

Harry clutched at his Firebolt nervously as he waited for the Ravenclaws in the Entrance Hall. He had agreed to go along to their Wednesday night practise and was running early. He repeatedly straightened his robes and checked the buckles on his pads; most of the Ravenclaw team were older than he was, including Gavin and Cho and he was sure he would feel like a bumbling child in their presence. Simon was a beaming, friendly lad like Gavin, but Corrin Redburg, one of the beaters, was sulky and sarcastic and had given Harry filthy looks when he'd stopped to say 'hello' to Gavin in the corridor.

"Hey!"

Harry looked up to see Gavin and Simon Wood heading down the corridor. "Hi."

"So, y'all set, then?" Wood asked, grinning. "Gav's told us yeh're pretty good. Thanks fer helping us out."

Harry blushed and grinned back at the Scot, "Oh, it's nothing – it's more my team than my teaching. Just lucky, I suppose."

"Aye, modest too," Wood chuckled, "GC's warned us about that, an' all."

"No' tha' I been talkin' about you behind you're back or anythin'!" Gavin pointed out, grinning, but blushing slightly.

Harry was just about to answer when a loud Midlands accent not dissimilar from Neville's declared: "Ah, I see our dear captain's already consorting with the enemy."

All three boys turned to look and saw the shapeless form of Corrin Redburg looming down upon them from half way up the marble staircase.

Gavin turned back to face Harry and rolled his eyes. "Yeah, wha'ever, Nugget."

"Potter," Redburg nodded coolly as he reached them. "You going to try and teach us anything or are you just here as a glorified spy?"

"I-"

"Nugget, if you don' shut your trap right soon I'll stick tha' beater o' yours down your throat _sideways_, d'you follow?"

Redburg scowled at him, "Yeah, I'd like to see you try."

"Now, now, ladies!" Wood said, laying a hand on Gavin's arm and giving him a reprimanding look, "Now's not the time fer arguin' – we got guests, remember?"

"Oh – they aren't arguing again!" The tiny oriental girl appeared and moved around the little group until she was standing between Wood and the taller ginger girl who had arrived with her "Hi, Harry…" she mumbled, staring at the floor.

"Hi." _Oh this is all going so bloody well, isn't it?_

"Jus' Nugget being a dick'ead – as usual."

"Takes one to know one, Hilly."

"How many times d'I 'ave t' tell you – _don'_ call me that!"

"Look, if this is going to cause problems I can just not come – I mean, I don't mind or anything."

"Good – see ya, then."

"Corrin – don't be so rude! Harry's helping us, so learn to be nice for a change," the ginger girl ordered sternly. "Lets go out to the pitch – Mills and Coen can meet us down there."

Together, the group made their way down to the Quidditch pitch in silence. The practise itself went as well as could be expected when the captain and one of the Beaters seemed to hate each other and one of the new Chasers kept whining that it was cold. How that girl was going to last the season Harry had no idea – most of the winter games would be played in snow!

But now, thankfully, it was over, and Harry was sitting at the top of the Hufflepuff stand with Gavin, who had apologised repeatedly about Redburg's behaviour. Harry had tried just as often to dismiss it as nothing, but the Welsh boy was having none of it.

"You don' 'ave t'take it from 'im! 'E's a prat. And I am really, _really_ sorry."

"Okay, if you say so," Harry agreed finally. "But you're not looking that bad at all, honestly."

"Me or the team?" Gavin winked, sliding an arm around his shoulders mock-seductively.

"Both." _I do not believe I just said that._

"Ooh, tha's good," he smiled, squeezing Harry closer to him.

Gavin had been growing progressively touchy-feely with Harry over the past four days and people – the ones who, it had to be admitted, were actually looking for such evidence – had started to point it out. It was only little things like leaning on his shoulder when talking to him and grabbing him in the corridor to attract his attention, but it gave Harry a sort of fuzzy glow in his stomach and he was very sure it was a feeling he liked.

The two boys sat in silence for a while, comfortably close and, Harry thought, with no sense of _needing_ to talk. But then…

"Wha're you thinkin'?"

Before Harry has even realised it he'd absently murmured, "Hmm… just whether Draco and Sirius have managed to kill each other, yet."

"What?"

Harry's senses suddenly woke up. _Oh bollocks._ "Um… it's a long story."

"Meanin' you don' wan' me t'know…" Gavin said quietly, carefully sliding his arm away from Harry's shoulders.

"No! I mean _yes_! Well… well, _no_, I can't, really…" _Way to go, Potter._

"I see." The look of poorly-hidden dejection on the older boy's face absolutely betrayed the fact that actually, he didn't see and was more than a little put-out that Harry didn't want to tell him.

"I'm sorry…"

"I thought you 'ated Malfoy."

"I did…"

"B'you don' now?"

"Well… no."

"How comes?"

Harry thought about falling asleep on the other boy's shoulder on the tower roof, of his hint of protectiveness towards Remus, of being handed a mirror to inspect the other boy's efforts in healing his cheek… "We just… buried the hatchet, that's all. But no one's supposed to know."

"Why?"

"Because he's a Malfoy and I'm Harry Potter."

"An' 'e's bein' a'right t'you all of a sudden? Don' tha' seem a bit odd? I mean, th'whole school thinks you bloody 'ate each other…"

"I know, and that's why no one knows about us."

"'Us'?" Gavin asked, sounding rather hurt, "'Arry, is there somethin' you bes' tell me?"

"No! No, you don't understand – I don't like him _back_!"

"Back?" he echoed in surprise, "You tellin' me Draco Malfoy likes _you_?"

Harry put his face in his hands. _As if you haven't cocked it all up enough already! You bloody idiot!_

"'_Arry_, does Malfoy like you?"

"Yes…" Harry winced, nodding. There was no point in denying it after that spectacular slip anyway…

"B'you don' like 'im? Not like that…?" Gavin asked uncertainly.

"No – he's not my type."

"'S 'e know you're taken, does he?" the Welsh boy asked sullenly.

"_Taken_?"

"Well… I mean… y-you an' me… we… we like each other, don' we?" Gavin's face grew intensely pink as he spoke and he picked at a tiny rip on his knee pads. Harry was too stunned to answer. "Oh…" Gavin mumbled eventually, "p'rhaps tha' were jus' wishful thinkin', then…"

"Gavin…" Harry really had no idea how to say what he wanted to say.

"S'ok, s'my own fault, innet?" the other boy told him, shrugging and giving a miserable sniff. "Shouldn' go makin' assumptions, should I?"

"No, Gavin – that's not what I meant – I mean, I _want you _to take me!"

Gavin looked at him in shock, his jaw slack and his long-lashed brown eyes as wide and round as Professor Trelawney's saucers. "'Arry!" he choked, "I… I really like you an' everythin', but… y'know – tha's a bit forward, really!"

Harry blinked at him in confusion, "_Forward_? How do you mean, 'forward'?"

The other boy was beyond pink or even red, now, he was a shade of aubergine that Harry had never seen on a person before. When he spoke his voice was dropped to a whisper, "I mean – don' get me wrong, I'd really like to, but… sort of… _eventually_. 'S a pretty big step, innet?"

And then Harry twigged. "Erm, Gavin… This is really embarrassing but… I didn't mean that the way it came out." If there had been a brick wall nearby Harry would have been banging his head against it. Hard.

"Eh? You… you weren't sayin' you wan' me to… _y'know_?" the Ravenclaw asked slowly.

"No. No, I'm just a bit stupid and apparently completely incapable of saying what I actually mean. Sorry – I'm such a prat!" Harry groaned shaking his head against the palm of his hand. _Prat, prat, prat!_

"No, I'm th' prat, 'ere!" Gavin insisted, slumping down on the bench with apparent relief. "God… tha' went so wrong, didn' it?"

"A bit, yeah…" Harry conceded, fully aware that he was less embarrassed now than he would be once he'd had some time to think over the gigantic Freudian slip he'd made.

"Okay," Gavin began decisively, sitting up straight on the bench, "Le's do this prop'ly, eh?"

"Properly?"

"Yeah. Prop'ly." He flashed Harry a grin, albeit a nervous one, and said, in a very formal voice, "'Arry, you know I really like you an' everythin' an' we been spendin' a lot o' time together an' stuff, an' I'd really like to know if you'd go out wi' me." He rubbed his hands on his thighs and nodded to himself, as if he was giving himself a mental debrief.

Blushing, and not quite believing this was actually happening to him – after all, the only really good things that ever happened to Harry Potter were anonymous Good Broom Deliveries – Harry grinned and said, "'Course I will."

Gavin nodded calmly, muttered, "'Scuse me a moment," turned around on the bench, so he had his back to Harry, and punched the air, shouting "YESSSSS!" as he did so. He then very calmly turned back to the position he had been sitting in before. "Sorry abou' that," he grinned bashfully, "jus' wan'ed t'get that outta th'way."

Harry giggled like a girl, and felt like an idiot. _If he wanted a girlfriend, Potter, he'd have asked out a girl._ "I mean, um… that's okay… I sort of feel like doing the same thing."

Gavin chuckled, "Well, tha's pretty reassurin'! An' I can' _ach'ully_ believe I just asked you. I though' if did it were gonna take months to work up th'nerve…"

"I know the feeling," Harry admitted, "I'd only sort of realised I like you the night before you brought me my books on the stairs. It's only been a week and a half or something, hasn't it? It's… weird."

Gavin shifted closer. "I know," he agreed, "but I jus' seemed t'know, some'ow tha' you were… well, that you weren' gonna turn me down on th'grounds o'bein' a bloke. An' then I 'eard you asked Cho t'the ball las' year an' I did kind of panic, 'cos I thought you migh' jus' be frien'ly an' all that… I'm really glad you're not." There was a slight pause before he added, "I mean, no' jus' bein' frien'ly, cos you are frien'ly – very frien'ly – but I mean I'm glad tha' weren' th' reason. If you see what I mean."

"Um… I think I do."

They sat in silence for a moment, the sort of silence that would have had them both swinging their legs if the benches weren't so low.

"Feels a bit odd, dunnet?"

"Odd?" Harry asked, pushing his glasses up his nose.

"Well, you know – like, we're differen' now, 'cause we're together an' all that… But it don' feel different, do it?"

Harry sat for a moment and tried to consciously 'feel'. "No," he shrugged eventually, "I don't feel different, really, either. Quite a bit happier, now, but not that different, no…"

"'Appier?" the Ravenclaw echoed, a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth, "Really?"

"Yeah, of course 'really'! I wouldn't have said it otherwise." Harry blushed and looked at the knuckles of his gloves, "I really like spending time with you and to think that I've sort of… got a special right to want to, now… it's kind of cool."

Gavin tentatively reached out and took his hand, "Whenever you want…" he mumbled. 

Harry looked up and gazed into the other boy's eyes. _So pretty…_

"Aren' we s'posed t' do somethin' now?" he asked, tucking his hair behind his ear again.

"Like what?"

"Like kiss or somethin'? Put a seal on it?" he suggested, lowering his chin and looking at him through bashfully lowered lashes.

"Oh. Um… yeah…" _Oh God… here we go… this is the decider…get a grip, Harry, come on…_

Both boys very nervously leaned forward, their motions jerky with apprehension. Gavin started to raise a hand to Harry's cheek, but seemed to have second thoughts and opted for his shoulder instead. For a second they hesitated, trying to find a comfortable angle at which to proceed, and then their lips were pressed together, not too hard and slightly off-centre, but it was still enough to make Harry feel slightly dizzy. They didn't move at all at first, and when they did it was only a matter of a few sweet little fundamentally closed-mouthed presses, but Harry didn't care. He was going out with Gavin Cross and they were kissing! He couldn't wait to tell Ron!

Carefully, Gavin pulled away and seemed to be looking off into the distance with his eyes slightly narrowed.

"What?" Harry asked, turning to look around in the direction in which Gavin had been staring.

"I dunno," he began slowly, "D'you ever ge' the feelin' that someone is watchin' you?"

"Er… yeah, sometimes…" Harry admitted, turning back to look at him. "No one can see us from here, though, can they? We're too far away, too high up…"

"Tha's what I were thinkin'," Gavin nodded. "C'mon, I think we bes' be goin' – 's getting' dark an' this place is startin' t'gimme the creeps." He stood up, still looking around himself carefully. Harry followed, starting to become unnerved, too. "C'mon," the other boy urged, taking his hand, "le's getback t' th' castle…"

In the two weeks before the Quidditch match Harry spent his time carefully rationing himself between Gavin, Draco and Hermione-imposed study sessions. His prefect and Quidditch duties generally incorporated all three, to some extent, and he had begun to loan Gavin his invisibility cloak so the other boy could attend Gryffindor practises without the rest of the team knowing. The other boy was too shy to simply come along all the time and Harry had a feeling Sirius might throttle him if he knew how much he was helping his new boyfriend.

Sirius, in fact, had no idea that Gavin _was_ Harry's boyfriend. No one did, apart from Ron and Hermione (whose reactions to the news had been whole-hearted astonishment) and, according to Gavin, Simon Wood. Simon, Gavin had explained, was his best friend. He had been since they'd sat next to each other when they were sorted. Harry liked Simon. He didn't see him in quite the same light as he had done a few weeks before, but he was a friendly and had a subtle sarcastic streak that kept Harry amused.

Gavin had advised Harry against telling Draco about them. He was worried the other boy would throw a tantrum and tell everyone. He'd fervently assured Harry that it had nothing to do with _wanting_ to hide budding romance, but had remembered how, in his first year, one of the sixth years had been tormented so badly after he was found out that he hung himself in his parents' barn rather than return to school after Christmas. He insisted he was only afraid of people making Harry unhappy. It gave Harry a warm, tingly feeling in his stomach that was growing more and more familiar since he'd been officially going out with Gavin Cross. Even if it was a secret. The moments he liked most were the ones when they were on their own and the Ravenclaw would make a tiny gesture, something tiny such as brushing a stand of hair out of Harry's eyes or wiped an eyelash off his cheek. The hugs were nice enough, but it was the simple things Harry liked. Kisses had remained chaste and awkward, much to Ron's disappointment. He had been trying to bully Harry into kissing Gavin 'properly' just so he could get some feedback on whether he was better or not. Harry had taken to thumping him.

Draco, still none the wiser, was apparently doing a sterling job of hiding his animosity towards Cross. When he and Harry spent time together they would talk or study (much to Hermione's disgruntlement), and some times they would even play games if Draco didn't deem them too juvenile. One of the main things they spent time doing was studying pyroclasty. They poured over any books they could find that featured the phenomenon, and Harry was starting to take a very active interest. It seemed pyroclasty was not alone in its field. Records showed that women in the past had been allegedly able to conjure water from nothing (Draco had actually slapped Harry around the head when he had made a rather vulgar suggestion as to where the water came from and why it wasn't so odd after all). The women, one in the Far East, three in south-eastern USA and six in Europe as a whole had been labelled nymphs and eight had been burned at the stake by locals who claimed they possessed by water demons. There were only examples of female 'Nymphs' though. Not one single male. The more they had looked the more intrigued they had become, and their 'project' as they had started to refer to it, had begun to consume rather a large amount of their time together.

Draco had asked Harry, in a would-be-casual tone, who he would be supporting at the match that weekend. Awkwardly, Harry had had to reply that he had already agreed to fly the blue Ravenclaw flag as a sign of friendship, seeing as the two teams had assisted each other in practise. The other boy had set his jaw and stalked off to his next class.

On the afternoon of the game, the weather having finally started to turn grim as the summer came to a close, the Slytherin strode into the changing room, already in his full kit, and called his team to arms. "Listen up. We're taking the Ravenbores in the Chompley Arrow formation unless they take on the Girder's Grouse. You know they probably will, so don't all sit there like melons. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Draco," chorused the team in the deep, grumbling tones of six boys who all thought they should be captain.

"If they try to surprise us by trying the Gryffindorks' little Three-Two and One pass system we know what we're going to do to keep them back, I presume? Zabini, tell me."

François Zabini rolled his eyes and muttered, "We take out the Five-catcher and bring in our Two-One from below."

"I see I drummed it in to you at last. Try and remember while you're in the air, will you?" Draco snapped at the black-haired boy. He had a shifty squint that meant you never could tell whether he was looking at you or not and there were few people in the Slytherin team who wanted Draco's position more. "I want us to start with you at the One, Higgs at the Two and Montague at the Three. Do as you're told and we'll kick this bunch of idiots out of the sky." He checked his watch, ten minutes until the starting whistle. "Wait here," he ordered, and disappeared through the curtained entrance of the changing room.

Outside the Ravenclaw changing rooms, Harry was waiting for Gavin to come out so he could wish him good luck. The older boy had been intensely nervous about his first game in the captain's place and more so about playing Slytherin. He'd longed to have taken on the 'Hufflepush-overs' first, just to get a feel for how the team melded under pressure. After ten minutes, the Welsh boy appeared through the curtains, the top layer of his hair bound back to keep it out of his eyes during the game. "Are you okay?" Harry asked, as the other boy took his hand and began to lead him around the back of the stand.

"I'm no' too bad – bit twitchy!" he admitted with a nervous laugh.

"You'll be fine. But they play dirty, don't let the new players forget that."

"I know, I won'. Thank you."

"Oh, it-"

"'Arry, it's no' 'nothin'' so don' keep sayin' it is! It means a lot t' me, and it would even if you weren'… you know…" he nodded his head towards the changing rooms, as if to say 'can't let that lot hear'. He reached out and brushed Harry's hair out of his eyes. "I wanna say thank you," he mumbled, looking anywhere but at Harry. And then he suddenly fixed his dark eyes on the green ones before him, leaned down and kissed him. A 'proper' kiss. Harry wrapped his arms around the taller boy and kissed him back. 

After a few moments, Draco's limbs, frozen in horror, allowed him to move again. He turned his back on the pair of dark-haired boys and stormed back into the changing rooms. "Slytherins!" he shouted, snatching up his broom, face like thunder, "New tactics. Take out their Keeper. And that's an order."

Take out their Keeper the Slytherins did. Time and time again. From the moment they were in the air, five Slytherins took it in turn to aim Bludgers, the Quaffle and themselves at the Ravenclaw. Draco watched from his vantage point above the pitch and smirked. _That'll teach you, you bastard._ The only members of the team not attacking Cross were himself and the Slytherin Keeper, who was having a fairly easy time of it against the full Ravenclaw Chaser trio. They, like the team's Beaters, were valiantly trying to defend their own captain.

He looked down at the crowd. Harry seemed to be transfixed in shock as a Bludger crashed into Cross's shoulder and the Ravenclaw flopped forward over his handle. He struggled to sit up again while Wood waved madly at Hooch to make her halt the game. Five minutes later they were back in the air and Wood was circling the goal posts defensively. The little oriental girl was a short distance away from him, scowling. "You're a cheat and a bully, Malfoy!" she yelled, "Don't think you'll get away with it."

Draco laughed at her. "What's the matter, little girl? Is the big boys' game a little bit tough for you?" 

Cho gave a very uncharacteristic hiss and spiralled away.

Draco returned his attention to the Gryffindor. _Harry is sitting there fawning all over him! It's all so obvious, now! No wonder Potter kept changing the subject when I started talking about him and Cross. He couldn't even tell me! We're 'such good friends' now, but he couldn't even tell me. Bastard!_

To say Draco was upset would have been like saying the ocean was 'a bit damp'. He was stuck in a rut between too-upset-to-be-angry and too-angry-to-be-upset. Consequently, he was in a painful limbo, and his mind was focused on one thing and one thing only: kicking Gavin Cross's Casanova arse into the middle of next week. Being too small and sophisticated to do it himself, Draco was satisfied with allowing his team to do his nasty work for him. And it was working. Unfortunately, there were side effects. Harry was upset, obviously so, and that left Draco feeling like something one might find in a neglected Dragon's lair. He couldn't decide between calling them off for Harry's sake or getting them to shove Cross' broom somewhere he'd never retrieve it from for his own benefit.

He didn't have time to reach a conclusion. Somewhere below a whistle sounded. He whirled around on his broom and there, forty feet below, Cho Chang was holding a clasped hand high in the air. The Snitch! The girl had the Golden Snitch! Draco sank to the floor as though he were deflating. They'd lost. Lost to Ravenclaw! And it was all Cross's fault. Draco was now very certain which side of the line his feelings fell on: he was furious.

Harry raced out onto the pitch at soon as the whistle sounded. He didn't care that the whole school was watching and that a few eyebrows may have been raised as he sprinted over to Gavin to check he was alright. The older boy looked as though he'd been in a fight. A bruise was swelling around his split lip, caused by a Beater's club to the chin and the carefully tied back hair was now hanging loosely in his eyes. "Are you okay?" Harry asked, grasping at his arm, "I saw what happened and –"

"I'll be fine," Gavin lisped, giving him a smile that made his facial injuries contort in a rather grotesque fashion. "Won, didn' we?"

"Mr Cross!" Madam Pomfrey was hurrying towards them, "What on earth do you think you are doing just standing there? You should be in the hospital wing! Come, now!" Gavin tried to protest but found himself dragged away. He turned back as Harry asked if he should come with him and shook his head.

"Come an' see me later – when I look less like a monster!" he replied with another distorted smile.

"Looks rather bad, doesn't he?"

Harry whirled around with his wand in his hand and had it half a centimetre from Draco's nose before the blond boy could draw breath. "You did that," Harry hissed, "You set your whole cowardly team on him because you're too feeble to take him on yourself! You're pathetic Malfoy."

"What, Potter? You surely don't think you're actually worth _fighting_ over, do you?" Draco snorted, putting one hand on his hip. He began to scowl. "You didn't tell me. All that time in the library and the safe room, and you couldn't even bring yourself to tell me. I thought we were meant to be friends, _Harry_."

"Gavin didn't _want_ you to know."

"No, of course not. Is he ashamed of you, Harry? Is that it, or does he have some pathetic excuse about protecting you?"

Harry hesitated for a second. Gavin _had_ wanted to protect him, he'd said so. And Harry trusted him. Draco was just jealous. "Gavin is not ashamed of me," he muttered fiercely, "but he didn't want scum like you to know because he could fairly easily guess your reaction. To think I thought you'd actually changed!" Harry lowered his wand and gave Draco his filthiest look.

"You're so gullible! You don't even realise that he's using you, do you? This is all about Quidditch – he doesn't like _you_, Potter, just your tactical skills!"

Harry's fist connected with Draco's cheek with a force that actually knocked him off his feet. "How _dare_ you?"

Within a second the blond boy had sprung back up and regardless of the crowd growing around them he launched himself at Harry and attempted to strangle him with his tie. Fists and feet flew and goading cheers from the other students rang out until Harry found himself bodily raised into the air with a pair of hands on his collar and belt. 

"F'fuck's sake, Harry! What the hell are you doing?" Sirius was struggling to hold him up and Remus was carefully tugging Draco to his feet as he tried to shrug him off.

"What in Merlin's name is going on here?" Professor Flitwick had waddled over, and was soon followed by Madam Hooch.

"Nothing, it's all under control," Sirius told them, dropping Harry onto his knees and yanking him back onto his feet but his robes. "We'll deal with this. Come on."

The two boys were half carried, half dragged to the castle and taken to an empty classroom.

"What's going on?" Sirius demanded, shoving each of them into chairs. The two boys glared at the floor but said nothing. "Harry, you might be my godson, but I'm not above sticking you in detention for brawling. I mean, what the fuck has gotten into the pair of you, eh? One minute you're bloody best friends and the next you're trying to kill each other!"

"Harry," Remus asked quietly, moving closer to him and leaning a hand on the back of his chair, "has this got something to do with the reason Gavin Cross was just taken to the hospital wing looking as though he'd been trampled by a herd of wildebeest?"

Harry turned crimson. Why did Remus have to be so bloody observant? "It's nothing," he forced himself to say, "we just had an argument."

Draco cast him a side-long glance. "It was my fault," he said emotionlessly.

__

Too bloody right it was! "We're sorry, it won't happen again." _Not if Ferret Boy wants to keep his looks._

Sirius stared at them incredulously while Remus tilted his head a fraction and regarded them with vague interest. "Alright," Sirius sighed loudly, "Get out, and the next time I catch you two fighting it won't be brushed under the carpet so easily, got it?"

"Yeah…" the boys chorused sullenly and stood up, leaving the room before either man could ask any more awkward questions. Outside the room they gave each other final aggravated scowls and set off in different directions.

Draco went straight to the top of South Tower, both to remove himself from people he might be tempted to hex into small pieces and to have some time alone to think. He was hurt, mainly. Angry with himself, but hurt by the fact that Harry hadn't told him. He'd thought they were growing close… now he felt like a fool. He wasn't stupid enough to think that the time they had been spending together was significant _romantically_, but they were certainly becoming friendlier. It wasn't all that Draco had wished for, but it was something. They were working together on learning about Draco's gift; Harry was showing an interest in _him_ through that. It had been keeping him motivated towards gaining more. More of everything.

They had really been learning about each other. The things that Draco liked so much about Harry were slowly unravelling and he was starting to identify individual attributes: the modesty that was so genuine it bordered on constant self-deprecation and simply made you want to show him that he was worth everything and more, even though he'd never believe you; the slightly black sense of humour that could actually be rather droll sometimes, and quicker than expected when he wasn't even thinking about it; his typical Gryffindor devotion to being friends with anyone who took a shine to him, no matter how far beneath him they were and how irritating their presence was. Sometimes Draco wondered if he was really one of those people, and not the secret confidante he liked to believe he was, but then Harry would do things, make small gestures or comments that brushed all his concerns away, and for a little while he felt alright again.

It was fun to see Harry doing ordinary things such as studying, complaining over his Potions homework, playing exploding snap or losing pathetically to Draco at chess. It felt more normal. It made Harry seem more normal; even Draco couldn't help but see him as The Boy Who is Trying to Save My Life, sometimes, but by just spending redundant time with him Draco was beginning to understand; or so he'd thought.

He slammed the door of the uppermost room shut behind him and kicked a tattered old sofa in frustration. He kicked it again when he realised it was upholstered in Ravenclaw blues. It was insane that he had been in the abandoned storage room innumerable times and yet he had never noticed the colour of the sofa. But then, it had never really mattered before. Draco searched himself for his cigarettes, then remembered he was still in his pocketless Quidditch robes. The sofa received another kick. In fact, it received several before Draco stomped over to the other side of the room and sat on a hard wooden chair beneath the window. There was no way he was sitting on that damn Ravenclaw rubbish any more.

Why couldn't Harry have just told him? _Because that thuggish lump didn't want him to._ It was then that realisation dawned. Cross didn't want him to know about them. Harry had said so; "Gavin didn't _want_ you to know." If Cross had specified that he didn't want Draco to know then he must have been aware of the possibility that he would find out. Therefore, Harry must have told him they were friends. Or worse. Draco's heart skipped a beat and his blood ran cold. _If you told him, Potter…_ He bit his lip. What if Harry _had_ told him? Suddenly his thought processes speeded up. By the changing rooms, when he had seen them kiss, he had been sure that Cross had purposely looked over at him. He had thought that was ridiculous, though. What would the idiot have thought he could obtain from making a show of possessing Harry the way he quite obviously did? Unless he had known. Unless he had known and had realised that if Draco's mind was elsewhere it would throw his game! What if Harry was helping him? What if the whole point of Harry being so friendly with him was in hope of learning his strategies and using the way he felt against him? He felt a lump building in his throat. He wanted to kick the sofa again, but it was too much of an effort to get up and walk over to it.

Draco tilted his head against the wall and tried to take some calming gulps of air. They failed to do what they were intended for and instead, and to his annoyance, they merely succeeded in pushing tears out of the corners of his eyes. _Don't – sodding –cry!_ he told himself, scrubbing at his face with his sleeve, _Potter isn't worth it_. Only, Draco was pretty sure that he was. He was certain that Harry Potter was well worth the upset, because he was the one person who _could_ make him so upset. Sirius Black, it was growing apparent, was the one person who could personally push Draco far enough to outwardly lose his temper altogether, but Harry was the one person who could hurt him that much. He tried to hold back the sobs until he finally choked and then he gave in completely and buried his face in his knees, rocking gently in his seat and mumbling "stupid, stupid, stupid…" over and over into the material. He wasn't sure if he even meant himself or Harry.

Over twenty minutes later Draco had managed to return his breathing to normal and was drying his face on his sleeve. He was feeling much calmer, but also distinctly niggled that he didn't have his mirror with him. He could look like a puffer fish with a hangover for all he knew. And his jaw still hurt from being thumped, so God knew what that looked like! As for Harry… Harry had a lot of explaining to do. How dare he abuse his trust like that? What gave him the right to use his feelings for a sporting advantage, anyway? And yet, at the back of his mind a voice was arguing that Harry wasn't like that. He never asked about the Slytherin Quidditch strategies or pressed him to attend their practises. He just talked about Quidditch generally. If anything, he gave Draco more information about the Gryffindor strategies than anything else!

Draco stood up and began to pace the room; he didn't understand and he wanted to. He wanted to understand very much. Maybe it had been Cross's idea, but that didn't excuse Harry from being a part of it. _If Harry even knows_. _Which, being as he's an oblivious little nit he probably doesn't…Which means Cross is using him! I'll kill him. If that hairy great ape is using Harry like that I'll… kill him!_ Draco stopped pacing rather abruptly and pressed his hand to his mouth. He may have said that to Harry first in the heat of the moment on the pitch, but he could hardly _tell_ Harry that now, could he? _'Harry, I know we just tried to kill each other, but I thought it would be best to let you know that I think I was right and Cross is only sleeping with you to get his hands on the Quidditch Cup'._ He gave a shudder,_ He'd better not be sleeping with him…_Draco didn't trust Cross one iota. He may have seemed exceedingly pleasant to everyone else, but Draco remembered seeing his own distorted and apparently verdant reflection in the older boy's eyes and he wanted to know why. There was something not quite right about Cross, something he couldn't place, and regardless of his own feelings for Harry, even as a friend he wouldn't have wanted him to socialise with the other boy. He unnerved him. Chewing on his lip, Draco resolved to stop the brawny moron doing anything else that might jeopardise his relationship with Harry. It wasn't something he should be involved with anyway.

~*~

Thursday seemed to take longer than was strictly necessary to arrive. Part of Draco was dreading it, but the other half was desperate to see Harry alone. They hadn't spoken since the incident when Black and Lupin had dragged them away for a ticking off. In classes they had ignored each other, or, more accurately, Harry had ignored Draco and Draco had pretended to ignore Harry back, while feeling for all the world as though he we struggling against a veritable ocean of angst that he was not at all inclined to acknowledge. His pyroclasty lesson went rather interestingly on the Wednesday. He was firing off balls of heat that at one point nearly reduced the stone mantle over the fireplace into lava. Black had made some smart-arsed comment about that, and Draco had immediately ignited the curtains. It was lucky the other man seemed to be well versed in restoring charms, but Draco ensured that they were frazzled no less that four times afterward, just to make sure he had a job to do.

Finally, however, it was Thursday afternoon and Draco was sitting in the classroom that had been designated as theirs, completely alone. There was no sign of Harry and Draco was about to think that the Gryffindor had decided to terminate their sessions. In fact, the other boy was fifteen minutes late and Draco really was growing rather worried. Yet, when Harry finally walked in and slammed his book bag onto the table, sitting down on the chair opposite with his arms folded, Draco was more than a little disappointed. This was not what had had hoped for. He had hoped for Harry to walk in and declare that his little fling with Gavin had come to an abrupt end, owing to the fact that the Ravenclaw was a moronic twat; failing that, simply that he was as sorry about their fight as Draco was.

For precisely seventeen minutes they sat and stared at each other without saying a word. There was no way Draco intended to speak first. It was Harry who had started the fight anyway. Finally, the Gryffindor snapped. "What is your problem, Malfoy?" he demanded, scowling at him and giving a snort that reminded Draco of a bull about to stampede.

"Let-me-_think_," Draco mused, placing one finger to his chin in mock pensiveness, "I wonder if it could perhaps be that you didn't have the guts to tell me you were seeing Homo Erectus's fat little brother and then _attacked me_ on the Quidditch pitch in front of half of the school?"

"You deserved it," Harry spat.

"Oh yes, of course I deserved it. I was telling it as I saw it, _Potty_ – just trying to warn you that your precious boyfriend is _not_ what you think he is."

"You're jealous, Malfoy, that's your problem. You're a jealous little ferret and you can't bear to see someone else with what you want, can you?"

Draco narrowed his eyes and curled his lip into a sneer, "What's the matter, Harry? Is the truth hurting that little bit too much for you?"

"The truth?" Harry echoed angrily, "What would you know about the truth? Seems to me you couldn't tell the truth from what you want to believe if it jumped up and bit your stupid Slytherin arse!"

"Pot-and-kettle," the blond boy smirked back. "Perhaps Potty and Kettle, but I don't feel like assimilating myself with a household appliance, personally. I am not averse to likening lover-boy to a _tool_, though."

"Shut your mouth, Malfoy!" Harry growled, standing up slowly.

"What are you going to do? Hit me again? That _would_ upset Daddy Black and Daddy Lupin, wouldn't it? And all because I was concerned about you getting hurt when that imbecilic yeti has got his own way and can finally dump you by the wayside! Remind me _never_ to try and look out for you again!"

Harry faultered for a second before snapping back, "Don't give me that rubbish again, Malfoy."

"It's not rubbish! Did you know I was standing behind you when he kissed you? Did you even see the look he gave me? No, I don't suppose you did, did you? Too eager to get back to the nookie, obviously!"

"We weren't getting back to anything! That was the first time we'd kissed properly!" Harry burst out.

Draco merely sat and raised his eyebrows, "Is that so? How convenient." _The bastard won't event come near you unless it's to get to me and you just won't see it, will you?_

"He did it then because he wanted to thank me for helping them out! Why can't you just be happy for me?"

The words permeated Draco's ice-tinted exterior and settled somewhere in his chest. "Because you won't _be_ happy when he's finished with you! Of course I was bloody jealous – how can you expect me not to be? That great lump's got everything I want! But I am _not_ telling you this to be petty, Harry – I am telling you this because it's true. I do not trust Gavin Cross as far as I can throw him, which, let's face it, wouldn't even be very far if Hagrid tried, and I just…" his voice lowered to a murmur, "I don't want him to hurt you. In any sense."

Harry's scowl quivered, fighting to remain in place. "He won't hurt me…" he insisted with rather less conviction than he'd previously had.

Draco wanted to tell Harry what had happened in Hogsmeade, he desperately wanted to, but the look in the other boy's eyes stopped him. _He's such a fragile little idiot, sometimes…How can I make him even more miserable than the dopey git will be when he's had time to think about this? It's Cross who should be feeling like rubbish, not Harry. Harry's just stuck in the middle of this…_"Look Harry," he started, carefully rising to his feet to bring himself to the other boy's eye level, "You can say what you like, but I do not trust him and I sincerely doubt I ever will. If he hurts you I shall hex him into oblivion, so don't say I didn't want you. And he'd deserve it, anyway. You're better than him."

"No one's better than anyone else…" Harry protested lamely, reluctantly slipping back into his seat.

"You _are_!" Draco argued, looking as though he were about to slam his fist into the table in exasperation. 

"Draco, stop. Just for one minute _listen_ to me. I am just me; you know that. I'm not special, I'm Harry. You aren't doing yourself any favours by telling yourself I am, you know…"

"Bloody modest Gryffindor…" the Slytherin muttered and sat back down in his own chair, arms folded and pouting insolently.

"D'you know what? Gavin says the exact same things to me, about being too modest and more 'special' that I think I am. What makes that any different to you saying it?" Harry asked, leaning on the table.

"I _mean it_ – that's what makes it different. I'm not doing it so you'll help rescue me from a captaincy I can't handle and allow me to cop quick feel behind the changing rooms."

"He didn't 'cop a feel' of anything!"

"Oh well, I hope you're a good Quidditch instructor, then, Harry, or you might be back on the market quicker than you think."

"Why are you being so horrible again, Draco?" Harry demanded, growing increasingly hurt through both the things the Slytherin was saying and the doubts he was stirring inside him. "I was really starting to like you…"

Draco closed his eyes and replied, through gritted teeth, "I am not being horrible, I am trying to tell you that Gavin Cross is not worth a moment of your time!"

"For God's sake! Isn't that for me to decide?"

"YES! Yes, of course it is, but you're a Gryffindor! You like _everyone_! How can you even believe your judgement is accurate?"

"Well it's certainly less biased than yours."

"Don't talk rubbish, Harry, you're his boyfriend! How can that be a less biased opinion?"

Harry didn't have much of a comeback to that.

"I can't believe that even though we've spent so much time together you refused to tell me about you. You must've known I would find out eventually!"

Harry merely shrugged and pressed his face into the palm of his hands. "Gavin didn't want you to know, I told you that…"

"Yes, you did, but why didn't he want me to know? And why did you take his word over your trust in me? That's what gets to me the most, Harry, that you didn't trust me enough to tell me."

"I _do_ trust you," Harry groaned, "It's nothing to do with not trusting you. But it wasn't just my secret. It's Gavin's, too, and I didn't want to let him down."

"Of course not – can't upset Gavin, after all – friends come second."

"It's not like that! I just… part of me was afraid of upsetting you so you'd get in a temper and ruin things before they'd even started, and the other part was afraid of upsetting you full stop. You know I know how you feel… I was trying to not aggravate that… Clearly, it was a waste of time." They sat in silence briefly before Harry continued, "I know we're friends now, Draco – or that we're supposed to be – but we've spent years and years fighting and I can't just sort of switch off whatever mechanism makes me so defensive around you. I do trust you in a sense that I believe what you've told me about Voldemort and your father and everything, but I don't trust my understanding of your reactions towards me, yet. Things I'd laugh about with Ron and Hermione you get stroppy about. Things I think you'd go ballistic about you're relatively okay about… I don't understand, yet."

"Do you even want to understand?"

"Don't be a knob, of course I do. We said we were friends, didn't we?"

"And, as a friend, I've been trying to warn you against something I think is bad for you. You don't have to listen to me, but don't try and make out I've only saying it to be petty, because I'm not. I just…" _care_ "…don't want to see anyone get the better of you, that's all."

"Well… thanks. I appreciate your concern. If I end up crying into my pillow because Gavin has dumped me, then you're more than welcome to mock me horribly."

"I wouldn't do that," the blond boy insisted immediately. Then added with a small frown, "I have to draw the line somewhere."

"You're right, you do," Harry returned more harshly than he'd meant to, "but next time he annoys you what are you going to do? Use Cruciatus on him or something?" He paused, almost as if waiting for an answer, an oath that he never would.

Draco stared at him for moment, looking as though he was frozen in time. Then a small pulse point in his jaw began to twitch. "I am not my father," he said through gritted teeth, his eyebrows slowly twisting into a frown. Suddenly he was on his feet and heading for the door.

"Draco!" Harry reached out to grab at his sleeve and just managed to catch the material quickly enough, "I'm sorry! That's not what I meant –"

"It's what you said."

"I know – I know and I'm sorry. I didn't mean you _would_ use Cruciatus on anyone – or any of the Unforgivables – but it was just an example. That's all – just an example, okay? An _example_…" Harry babbled desperately, knowing how deeply the implications would have cut the other boy.

"But that's just it – I _have_ used them, haven't I? He made me use them-"

"I know, Draco, but it's not your fault-"

"I'm not like my father…" he repeated half-heartedly, closing his eyes tight and wrapping both arms around himself tightly.

"I know you're not…" Harry said softly, his instincts urging him to reach out and hug the other boy, but memories of the conversation on the top of South Tower pulled in the other direction.

"I should have fought it."

"Fought what?"

"The curse! Imperius. I should have fought it. I shouldn't have done those things he wanted me to."

"Draco, you were a little kid – you couldn't have fought it then!"

"You lived through Avada Kedavra, didn't you?" Draco demanded.

"Yeah, but as far as we know, that was a complete fluke! I was only a baby – I couldn't have done it any more consciously than you would have done!" Harry argued, "It-wasn't-your-fault."

The blond boy tightened his grip around himself and clenched his eyes shut tighter, reciting the Greek alphabet backwards in his mind. _Boys do not cry. Boys do not cry._ Harry gave in; there was no way he was just going to stand there and do nothing. He stepped nearer and wrapped both arms around him, waiting to be shoved away. To his surprise, when Draco loosened the grip he had around his own torso it was to wrap his arms instead around Harry and bury his face in the dark material over his shoulder. Gently, Harry rubbed his back the way parents seemed to when their children were hurt; he was actually amazed at how naturally it seemed to come. How easy it was to comfort another simply through physical contact. Of course, he'd hugged Hermione or patted Ron's shoulder when things were looking a bit bleak for each of them, but he'd never really comforted anyone properly – he'd never needed to. Even making those mandatory soothing sounds seemed to be easy and they made Draco nuzzle closer towards his neck and squeeze him tighter, so he supposed they must be working.

After a few minutes, The blonde boy pulled away, looking slightly pink but certainly not as though he had been crying. He brushed his robes down and stared at the floor awkwardly. 

"Are you feeling okay, now?" Harry asked tentatively, tilting his head slightly so he could see past the worst of the other boy's silvery hair.

"Fine," the other boy replied quickly. "Lesson time is over."

"Is it? Oh… yeah, I suppose it is," Harry admitted, looking at his watch. "Are you sure you'll be alright?"

"I'll be fine, don't coddle me."

"I wasn't-" _I was cuddling you…_

"No. Look, I'm sorry… I just think I'd best go and find some time to myself. I'll see you tomorrow, won't I?"

"Same as usual," Harry nodded.

"Good, then I'll go."

"Okay."

"Bye then…"

"Bye."

Harry watched as the other boy slipped out the door, pausing to half-glance back at him, and suddenly he realised he was extremely sorry to see him go.

~*~

Explaining to Gavin that he and Draco had patched up their differences was not easy for Harry. Quite understandably the Ravenclaw was rather put out that Harry was so friendly with what he now deemed The Enemy. He'd sulked all morning after Harry had told him. By the weekend he had been feeling much better. His bruises and bumps were gone and he was almost heroically fending off the concerns of the rest of his House. In fact, he'd confided that he was getting rather irritated by everyone's 'flapping' as he called it, so Harry had suggested they spend Saturday afternoon at the cottage. After all, they could hang out in Harry's bedroom with no one to hassle him at all. He felt the need to mollify the older boy and stop him sulking, and at that moment in time, couldn't think of a much better way. At least he hadn't mentioned the hugging…

Harry led the Ravenclaw into the cottage and stuck his head around the living room door. Sirius was sitting on the floor, apparently trying to assemble something from small pieces scattered around him on the rug, and Remus was curled in the armchair by the window, reading a hefty book to try and vaguely attempting to convince the other man he should give up because parts were missing.

"Hi!" Harry called, "We're just going upstairs…"

"Right – see ya…" Sirius mumbled vaguely, scrabbling through the pieces. Remus lowered his book and smiled at him.

"Okay, Harry. Who's your guest and are you going to be staying for dinner?"

Gavin leaned slightly around the door and waved briefly before ducking back out again.

"Dunno," Harry shrugged, and backed out of the room, "I'll tell you later."

Remus nodded silently at the closed door, fair eyebrows raised above the rims of his spectacles, yearning to tell them to leave the door open. He was glad Sirius hadn't noticed the other boy. He suspected the last thing they felt like doing was sitting through one of his Quidditch rants. 

The teenagers tramped up the cottage's narrow staircase and into Harry's carefully ordered bedroom. Gavin looked around at the Gryffindor banners and the few bookshelves Remus had filled with a combination of wizard and Muggle books for him, the abundant photographs of Harry's family and friends and the single wardrobe shoved into a corner as though neglected and useless. Harry didn't have many clothes, even though his godparents had offered to take him shopping and bought him some rather more sensibly-sized garments. 

"Ooh," Gavin grinned, shutting the door behind them, "Nice _private_ room you got 'ere…" 

Ever since Harry's faux pas with the 'take me' incident allusions to sexual activity had become a private joke between the two. Despite this, it had taken until just before the Quidditch game for the two boys to even _kiss_ properly and apart from a couple of secret goodnight kisses and a jokey squeeze of Harry's bum things hadn't gone any further.

"I suppose it is," Harry replied, bouncing onto the bed. Gavin moved nearer and joined him less confidently.

"You're lucky," he told him, kicking off his shoes and placing his feet on the bed, leaning against the footboard. "Family right 'ere an' a room you can come to t' get fi'e minutes t' y'self…"

"I'm not supposed to come here to stay during the week," Harry pointed out with a shrug, "but no one seems to mind if I come at weekends." He looked at Gavin's socked feet. The temptation was too great; he reached out a hand and gently tickled the sole of one. The older boy gave a very ungainly shriek of laughter and tickled Harry's in retaliation.

"Gavin! No, don't! Stop! I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" Harry laughed, scrambling backwards up the bed as the Ravenclaw advanced upon him in a very obvious tickling stance, "Gavin! I'm really ticklish! Don't!"

"I shall 'ave my revenge! Mwah-hahaha-haaaaaaaa!" he replied in his best Evil Tickling Overlord voice, and pounced on the Gryffindor who gave a breathless yelp and tried to fend him off with equally ferocious tickling. It took just a couple of minutes before they were both so exhausted from laughing that they collapsed in a breathless truce, both dark heads resting on the same fluffy pillow. They both panted for breath, sporadic chuckles breaking out from time to time.

"You know," Gavin breathed, pushing Harry's fringe out of his eyes, then interlocking their fingers, "You're really, really gorgeous… but when y're 'appy I's jus' somethin' else…"

Harry blushed and muttered, "Ah, shurrup…" coyly.

"Y'are."

"Oh stop, you're making me go all pink!"

"So?" Gavin grinned mischievously, and leaned across to give Harry a kiss.

In the living room, Remus turned the next page of his book without knowing a single thing that had been on the previous page. His _eyes_ were following the text, of course, it was just that his brain wasn't listening. His thoughts were all too focused on something else. Werewolves' senses are somewhat heightened compared to the average human being, particularly at certain times of the month, and while the full was still some time off, Remus was 'sensing' things that didn't leave him terribly comfortable. In fact, he'd been getting hints for quite a while – a couple of weeks, perhaps, from various sources – and he was now beginning to add things together. At present there was a distinct sense of excitement in the cottage, faint (probably due to the fact that it was emanating from another part of the house), but undeniably there. _The excitement_, he mused,_ of two teenagers finding novel ways of entertaining themselves._ He groaned inwardly and hoped he was wrong.

__

It's funny, Harry thought as he rolled back a bit to allow Gavin to shift his weight further on top of him, _how kissing gets so much more passionate when you do it horizontally…_

"FUCK!"

Remus dropped his book with a start. "What? What's the matter?"

"Look what I found in here!" Sirius cried, springing to his feet and showing him a tatty square of paper. "It's me! Me and Harry – look how tiny he is…"

Remus looked at the old Muggle Polaroid shot. He remembered it being taken, about three hours after Harry was born. He lay in Sirius' cradled arms, grasping at his hair with one hand, and the other fisted around an anonymous finger. His own, as it happened. "Yes," Remus forced himself to smile, leaning down to retrieve his book, "it's very old, isn't it? Hasn't he grown up?"

"Fuck, yeah! I'm gonna show him!"

The wrought-iron bed gave a small creak as Harry made Gavin raise his weight so he could shift his leg underneath him. Grinning, the Ravenclaw obliged and settled back down; Harry wrapped both arms around him.

"Show him? What, _now_?" Remus asked, trying not too alarmed.

"Yeah, of course 'now'!" Sirius turned to head towards the hall.

"NO!"

"What?"

"I mean, no, don't – he'll be embarrassed. No one wants their baby photos shown to people, do they?"

"Don't be a pillock, Moo, half the world has seen his baby photos!"

"Well… well, yes, I know, but not while he was there. Trust me, Sirius, it can wait. Really."

Harry listened to the strange slurpy noises they made as they snogged. _That's really quite grim_,he thought, and would have scrunched up his nose in mild distaste if he hadn't been otherwise occupied in accommodating the other boy's tongue. He ran his hands up the inside of the older boy's t-shirt, hoping to provide a distraction and hopefully not put him off…

"Sirius-"

"Oh shut up, you old woman!" Sirius laughed and started up the stairs, taking them three at a time.

"Sirius!" Remus hissed in mild panic, "Don't you dare go in there!"

Sirius turned to glance at him and shake his head as though he thought the other man was mad, and his hand was already on the door handle.

"SIRIUS!"

At the sound of the door opening Gavin, who had been shifting his weight to allow his hands access to areas that had been awkwardly trapped between them, gave such a start he fell off the bed. In the same instance Harry sat bolt upright and tugged his t-shirt straight, folding his knees against his chest after a split-second's thought.

Sirius merely gaped at the pair of them for a moment before emitting a strangled yell of: "REMUUUUUS!"

For a moment there was nothing, then the shorter man's voice sighed: "I told you. I told you _not_ to go in there. I told you it could wait. But you never, _ever_ flaming listen, do you?"

"Sirius-" Harry began, starting to climb off the bed, but having second thoughts about doing so in his present condition. Gavin scrambled to his feet just as Remus's voice called:

"Um, Gavin, I don't mean to sound rude, but I seriously think you would benefit from escaping as soon as possible."

A nanosecond later the Ravenclaw dashed out of the bedroom clutching his trainers and muttering "Sorry…" as he darted past.

"I-" Sirius shook his head in a gesture either of disbelief or speechlessness.

"Sirius I… I meant to tell you…" Harry started feebly.

"WHEN?" Sirius suddenly exploded, "When you were running off to Las-sodding-Vagas for a bloody wedding ceremony read by Elvis?"

"N-no… but… I did mean to, honestly! There just never seemed a good enough time… I mean… I really _did_ want to! Really. I'm really, _really_ sorry…"

"I don't want you to be _sorry_, Harry! I just can't believe you didn't fucking tell me!"

"I'm sorry…" Harry said again shakily, not knowing what else to say and feeling a lump of humiliation, shame and regret for not telling Sirius ages beforehand begin to clog up his throat.

"Annngh…" Sirius seemed to growl helplessly, running a hand through his hair and haltingly moving to go and sit on the bed beside him. "Don't you get all weepy on me, kiddo!" He wrapped an arm around his shoulders and gave him a squeeze. "I just can't believe you… It just doesn't seem _right_! I came up here to show you a picture-" he pressed it into Harry's hand "-of yourself when you were a couple of hours old! It just feels fucking _mad_ to realise you're not a sprog anymore…"

Harry looked down at the Polaroid. The man whose arms he lay in was grinning down at him with such rapture. It made him feel even more ashamed.

"Harry…" It was Remus, this time, leaning against the door frame uncomfortably, "I think the three of us need to have a bit of a talk; don't you, Siri?"

Sirius cast him a glance, did a double take and then nodded slowly; "Yeah. Yeah, I think we do… Over to you, Moony." He unwrapped his arms from around Harry's shoulders and waited for the other man to speak.

Remus blanched, then blushed deep pink, "Wait – no, Sirius, I didn't mean _I_ –"

"You're the sensible, practical one, Moony, off you go."

"Sirius!" The fair-haired man stood in the doorway like a rabbit in headlights, not sure whether to run or not, green eyes wide and nervously jittery.

"Go on, then, it was your idea after all, Remus, and I'm absolutely positive that you know _exactly_ what you're doing in this respect."

Harry turned redder and redder, too embarrassed to speak.

Remus shot the other man an look that threatened of retribution to follow at a more appropriate time, and edged nearer the bed. Carefully he sat down and cleared his throat. "Harry," he began, clasping his hands together so tightly the knuckles whitened, "you're a growing lad and… um… _well_, I'm sure you know that as you get older – I'm sure you've already noticed this for yourself – things start to change a bit and, well…"

"Get a move on, Moony, or he'll be married before you shut up!" Sirius teased with a grin that promptly fell as he realised what he'd said. "Well, not 'married' married, but…er…" Remus cast him a cool look and he quickly shut up. "Erm, carry on."

"And, well… as these changes start to happen – well, they probably started to happen when you were about twelve, but-"

"I know this…" Harry said quietly.

"Yes, I'm sure you do, Harry, but-"

"Oh for FUCK'S SAKE!" Sirius cried in exasperation, "Alright, here's the thing, Harry – it's perfectly okay to fancy people. It's a bit strange if they also happen to be bloke, but, fundamentally, you're no more weird than anyone else. The fact it's a Ravenclaw is another matter…"

"Sirius!"

"Well it's true, isn't it?"

"Y-you don't like him?" Harry asked, dark eyebrows pinched up in the middle from anxiety.

Sirius grimaced. "Now, if I thought you were 'my precious little angel' or something, I probably would despise him at the moment, being as I've just walked in on you two limbering up for the horizontal hula; but I know you're probably just as rampant as any other fifteen year-old in that castle, and I don't think the kid had to do much persuading, so no, I don't hate him. I just wouldn't have gone for him myself."

Remus shot him a look that Harry couldn't identify. He was probably irked that Sirius was being so blasé about it. "Harry," he started again, reaching out and putting a hand on his knee, "we need to ask you something that's quite personal…" he chewed on his lip for a moment before continuing, "Be honest, are you-" he hesitated over the words for a second "-having sex with Gavin?"

Harry's eyes nearly fell out in surprise, "No!" he assured him, shaking his head fervently.

"Well, if I hadn't found that picture we might be having a very different answer to that, so…"

"Gavin and I are _not_… sleeping together."

"I've heard that one before. From your father, actually. I think you're literally living proof of the Potter Word when it comes to that matter, personally…" Sirius teased, ruffling his hair.

"Harry wasn't even conceived 'til years after that, Sirius!" Remus tutted, rolling his eyes.

"I'm _not _sleeping with Gavin," Harry insisted, resting his forehead on his knees.

"Your mum and dad were maybe… a year older than you when they first got together," Remus said, eyes fixed on the picture beside Harry's bed, "and they were always adamant that they wouldn't – they used to fight non-stop when they were kids and then, suddenly it was all hearts and roses. Quite literally, in fact – we set them up as a joke and it didn't go quite to plan. We used to tease them horribly about it, particularly James, of course, and they denied for absolutely ages that they were… well, that they doing things they shouldn't have been-"

"Shagging like bunnies."

"-and by the time you turned up it was pretty obvious that they had to have been-"

"Of course they were! No normal person waits until their twenties to do the Nasty, do they?"

Remus looked at his hands for a moment before murmuring, "Some people don't feel the need to become involved like that until they've met the person they intend to spend the rest of their lives with. And you shouldn't feel obliged to do things you aren't comfortable with, Harry. You have every right, at any point, to change your mind, do you understand?"

Harry nodded. Sirius was right, though, at the time he'd been more than willing. In fact, he'd instigated half of it! And for Gavin's sake, Harry thought he should say so. "It's not like that, though, is it? I mean, in theory saying no is a piece of cake, but when you're actually _there_… it's different." He lowered his voice to a mumble, "I didn't want to stop…"

He missed the looks of understanding on his two guardian's faces. Remus's thoughts stretched back to the events on James's stag night, of doing things he'd spent the past twenty years of his life backing away from and waking up the next morning to the worst feeling of humiliation he'd ever faced. Wishing he had only drunk as much as he thought he had, and not the excess. Of running away to hide in the kitchen and steel himself for moment when his hormones' rebellion came back to haunt him.

Sirius, on the other hand, had dwelt on that for long enough over the past few days, and found his thoughts turning to _after_ the wedding. To the very first morning he'd woken up with a mop of sandy-brown hair buried in the crook of his arm; to thinking that rushing into some things was the biggest mistake a guy could make.

Remus reached out and gave their young charge a hug. "It's alright, we understand and neither of us are remotely angry," he assured him, "we're just going through the big parental fuss because James and Lily aren't here to."

"Would mum and dad have been angry?" Harry asked, looking between the two.

"Nah. James would have been having cold sweats about how to have this talk and Lils would have given you a big soppy cuddle and told you how much she loved you," Sirius grinned slightly wistfully. "I'm sorry you have to make do with us hopeless gits, that's all."

"Oh don't say that!" Harry protested, throwing his arms around his godfather and squeezing so hard Sirius had to make him let go before he ran out of air, "I love living here."

"It's a good job you do, because you're stuck with us until you're eighteen, I'm afraid," Remus reminded him, shifting nearer and giving both of them a hug at the same time. Sirius unhooked his arm from the fray and hugged him back. Awkwardly, Remus looked up and caught the other man's eye for a moment, their gazes lingered, and then they both snapped them away.

"Only eighteen?" Harry asked reproachfully. "Does that mean you're going to chuck me out as soon as I'm old enough." 

"I shouldn't think so," Remus grinned, pulling away to sit up, "who else can we get to wash up so often?"

"Ha!" Harry choked in indignation, "If that's the only reason you're keeping me here I'm leaving right now!"

"Don't be daft, Harry," Sirius tutted, deliberately ruffling his hair to roughly it all stood up with static, "It's not that at all… It's because only you understand why this one winds me up so much!" He gave Remus's hair an equally rough rub. Remus scowled.

"Likewise, Padfoot, likewise. Just don't expect me to go any where near your laundry ever again."

"Moony! You wouldn't! You know I'm rubbish at that sort of thing…" Sirius pouted over-dramatically.

"Watch me," the other man beamed, "And guess what's happening to that stick you really liked."

"Stick? Moony, you couldn't possibly-"

Remus gave him a brief grin and was out of the bedroom door in a small, beige blur. With a loud yell Sirius was after him at an equal speed. Laughing, Harry climbed off his bed and watched out the window as they had a tug of war in the garden – which Remus was actually winning. Harry grinned to himself, relieved to see them being so playful. He'd been worried things weren't going too well of late, but, with the exception of having a very embarrassed boyfriend to deal with, things were turning out okay. He gave another loud chuckle as Remus let go of the stick and sent Sirius reeling onto the grass. _And to think,_ he smiled, _they say you're only young once._


	9. Chapter IX Don't Stand So Close to Me

****

Chapter ~ IX

Don't Stand So Close to Me

**** __

"Who do you need, who do you love, when you come undone?" Duran Duran

****

Hermione looked up from her work as Harry entered the common room. He'd left the cottage shortly after Sirius and Remus had run out into the garden, both wanting them to make the most of the ease that had been absent in recent days, to escape quickly to where he could think about what had just happened.

"Are you alright, Harry?" she asked, "You look a little… odd."

"Er…"

"You do an' all," Ron agreed frowning. "Sort of pink… but pale."

"I… um… had a bit of an episode," he admitted, moving to the table they were sitting at and hunching over slightly, chewing a finger nail.

"Oh yeah," Ron grinned, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms, "What've you done?"

"Er..."

"You said that already."

"I kn… Oh God, look, come with me…" He stood up and led them to the staircase up to the prefects' office. Mercifully it was empty – Seamus and Dean had given them interested looks when they'd stood up, and Harry had a feeling that their dorm would not have been a safe place to talk at all. They sat down and Harry had a strange sense of déjà vu as they gazed at him expectantly. "I um… took Gavin to the cottage."

Both of his friends continued to gaze expectantly. "And?" Hermione prompted finally.

"And… um…"

"What," Ron scoffed, grinning, "took him home to introduce to your folks, did you? I hope he didn't spill his tea on Remus's best table cloth."

Harry clipped him on the shoulder. "_No!_" he told him, impatiently, "But, um…" he turned pinker, "we sort of… er…"

"You sort of 'er' what?" Hermione asked, sounding for all the world like a mother forcing her child to confess to breaking a precious vase.

"…got caught." Harry's face lit up like a large cherry beacon.

"Doing what?" Hermione demanded, her voice going up an octave.

"Kissing…"

"Kissing?"

"And…stuff."

"Stuff?" she echoed flatly, with more than a hint of 'I don't like the sound of this'.

"Were you… naked?" Ron asked, scrunching up his nose.

"Ron!"

"Were you?" Hermione prompted.

"No…"

"Was Gavin?"

"NO!"

"Harry," she began sternly, "were you _likely_ to become naked?"

Harry turned a perfect crimson and opened his mouth. He closed it again when nothing would come out.

"Oh my God!"

"I… well… I…"

"I don't bloody believe it." Ron shook his head in amazement, "First you snog him on the first date, now you're bloody shagging him! Fucking hell, Harry – your name's gonna have more red lights hanging from it than that Ravenclaw – what's'erface? Rebecca Fondle!"

"Rebecca Fennel, you idiot," Hermione tutted, not withdrawing her gaze from Harry for an instant.

"I AM NOT SHAGGING HIM!"

"Bloody doesn't sound like you had other plans to me!"

"Why does everyone assume that just because I'm gay I'm a male slag?" Harry practically shouted.

"Because you go around kissing people on the first date and God knows what else less than a bloody month all-in! What do you bloody expect, Harry?"

"For Christ's sake, Ron! Stop treating me like I'm Ginny or something! I'm not a bloody little girl that needs to be looked after!"

"Harry, were you going to?" Hermione asked levelly, her brown eyes scrutinising him carefully.

"No. As a matter of fact I wasn't!" Harry snapped, starting to sulk.

"So what were you caught doing?"

"Just… kissing… on my bed. And… sort of… t-touching a bit…"

Ron's forehead hit the table with a loud _thunk_. 

"Harry," Hermione sighed, "I hope you know what you're doing…"

"What do you mean, 'know what I'm doing'? I'm just doing stuff I wanted to with my _boyfriend_! I came to you two because I wanted to tell you what happened, not so you'd lecture me! Even Remus didn't lecture me!"

"Harry, you really haven't been going out with Gavin very long-"

"So? What's that got to do with it? I like Gavin! I like him a hell of a lot and I wish everyone would stop trying to tell me that he's not good enough for me or he's not right or whatever! It's bloody annoying and it's _my_ choice!"

"No one has said Gavin isn't good enough, Harry…"

"Draco did," he replied sullenly.

"Yes, but Draco has his reasons, doesn't he?" she reminded him patiently.

"Has he?" Ron asked, looking at her as though she was slightly bonkers. "I mean… I know Ravenclaw beat them and everything, but that's a bit much, isn't it, saying that?" The look that passed between the other two stoked his interest and he demanded, "What? What do you know that you haven't told me?"

Harry sighed heavily and muttered, "He likes me."

"Well…?"

"No, Ron – he _likes_ me."

"What? Malfoy? _MALFOY_ -- likes you? Like- like… he _likes_ you? Oh my fucking life! Now I've heard it all…" Ron said with a strange, vaguely disturbed laugh. "Draco Malfoy's got a crush on Harry Potter… it's so bloody mental it's not even funny!"

"Don't you dare start on him for it, Ron," Harry warned him, "he's trying really hard to be a good mate to me. Even though he's going half mental about it."

"What, is that the second half that's turning, then?"

"Malfoy isn't the problem, though, is he? It's you, Harry – and Gavin. What on Earth did Sirius and Remus say? Were they very angry?"

"No. Sirius and Remus were really good about it. They don't _mind_ like some people do…"

"Harry, we're only worried that you'll get yourself in too deep to soon," Hermione explained, leaning over and taking his hand. "We're your friends and this is a very difficult time for you…"

"It would be a lot less difficult if my friends supported me!"

"Is that why the Slytherins beat up Cross? Because of you and him?" Ron said suddenly, "That Malfoy is such a jealous little bastard! I dunno how you can bear to spend all that time with him, Harry. I'd have punched his lights out by now."

"He's not," Harry replied, almost grinding his teeth, "He's really nice. He just does some very misguided things at times."

"Fucking hell, Harry! Listen to you! You're telling us one minute how great Gavin is and how much you like him and that shagging him would be the best idea in the world, and now you're going on about how wonderful _Malfoy_ is! Anyone would think you've got a bloody crush on him, too!"

Harry stared at him. "I have _not_ got a crush on Draco!"

"So why do you seem to think the sun shines out of his arse, then? Why so you need to spend so much bloody time with him, eh? 'Cause I know Dumbledore never said you had to live in each other's pockets!"

"Because he actually cares about me. He really loves me, Ron, but he sits and listens to me going on about Gavin when you two won't listen and he's more concerned with me, and me being happy than he is about my reputation! He's funny and he's intelligent and he doesn't treat me as though I'm a piece of thin glass that might break under the slightest bit of pressure!"

"Are you saying we don't?" Ron demanded, his ears turning pink.

"No, I'm not, I'm saying that I've got every reason to think the sun shines out of his arse! It is _not_ because he is pretty and it is _not _because I have a crush on him!"

"Pretty? Oh yeah right – you really _don't_ have a crush on him or anything, Harry. I can't believe you're even doing this! I mean, I can understand you doing the meetings thing, because that's for Dumbledore and the Order and that makes _sense_ – but I can't understand why you would actually _like him_! He's been such a complete bastard the whole time we've known him and now you're acting like he's your best friend and not us and you're spending all your time with him or Gavin and we never get to see you any more!"

"Ron – _you_ are my best friend, not Draco; it's you and Hermione… But Gavin is my boyfriend, now, and I like him a lot and I didn't _just_ do things because I felt bad about being friends with Draco-"

"What?" Hermione asked quickly, pouncing on his words as though she had been laying in wait for them.

"'What' what?" 

"You said that you didn't _just _do things with Gavin to make up for being friends with Draco! Oh Harry, you didn't let him do things because you felt guilty, did you?"

Harry gave a loud sigh and ran his fingers through his hair, "It wasn't like that…"

"So what was it like?" she pressed sternly.

"I did feel guilty. I felt really guilty because it _was_ Draco who told the team to start on Gavin – but because he doesn't trust him. He thinks Gavin is only out for what he can get, and I know he's wrong, but he meant well and he got really upset and stuff… And then I messed everything up even more by saying that I was afraid next time he'd do something worse, like use Cruciatus on him and he got just _so_ upset about it… So… so I hugged him and said I was sorry and things are okay again, but Gavin wasn't happy at all and-"

"Neither would I be if my boyfriend was off feeling up other people," Ron muttered. "Especially if it was Malfoy… Not that I'd have a boyfriend."

"I didn't 'feel him up', Ron – I comforted him! There are differences, you know."

"Yeah, whatever, Harry…"

"Ron, I can't believe you're being like this!"

"Well, I'd rather you were shagging Gavin like there was no tomorrow if it meant you weren't going to see as much of Malfoy!"

"Ron! Don't be so vulgar!" Hermione told him harshly.

"It's not vulgar – it's the truth!"

"Is your problem with me potentially having sex with other guys or potentially fancying Draco, Ron?" Harry asked, standing and leaning heavily on the table.

"I don't have a problem with you shagging _guys_… exactly… But I mean – it's Malfoy! How can you like _Malfoy_?"

"Oh forget it! I can't be bothered any more. When you've learned to distinguish between liking someone and fancying them maybe I'll try explaining then, but at the moment I'm getting very close to just twatting you one and I don't want to ruin our friendship."

"Harry!" Hermione cried, hurrying to her feet and stopping him at the door, "Don't be silly – don't walk away now!"

"I think I've got to, really," Harry replied, breathing heavily.

"Where will you go?"

"I don't know. Probably to see _Draco_." He added the last word purely to aggravate Ron.

"But stay here, Harry – we're your best friends, you said so!"

"Yes, Herm, you are, but at the moment I need to go and see Draco, is that alright?"

"WHY DO YOU NEED TO SEE HIM?" Ron exploded, standing up, his fists clenched at his sides, "HE'S NOT YOUR BOYFRIEND OR YOUR BEST FRIEND OR EVEN FAMILY! HE'S A BLOODY SPOILT LITTLE SHIT THAT ONLY CARES ABOUT HIMSELF!"

Harry stared at him for a moment before asking, "Really, Ron? So why so I find it easier to talk to him sometimes than I do to you?" He slammed the door shut behind him.

Hours later, Harry lay in his four-poster and listened to the sound of Ron moving around the dorm getting ready for bed. It was still early and they were the only two there; Seamus and Dean were still completing homework due imminently and Neville was down in the potting sheds helping Professor Sprout with some kind of nocturnal plant. He rolled over noisily, his blankets rustling. He'd spoken to Draco, briefly. Draco had told him he was an idiot and ordered him to go back and talk to his friends and not to bother him with his moping when the cause was self-inflicted. Harry had sloped back to the Tower sulking and had spoken to Hermione, but not Ron. Ron had been off somewhere with the twins, so Harry had opted to go to bed instead and feel sorry for himself.

"Harry?" Ron's voice said suddenly from being the curtains of his bed.

"Yes?"

"'Mione says you have something to talk to me about," he said, a touch stiffly.

"Er… I… um… do, yeah," Harry mumbled through the closed curtains, pulling himself into a sitting position. "Come in."

The curtain was yanked back and Ron stood before him in his pyjamas. "Well?"

"I wanted… um… to say I'm sorry. About yelling. I didn't mean to… I just hate hearing people talking about him like that." Ron did not respond, merely raised his eyebrows challengingly. "Ron – I know you can't stand him…" he trailed off into a strained sigh.

"He's horrible to us," Ron said flatly.

"No, he _was_ horrible to us-"

"Same difference."

"But it's _not,_ though!" Harry insisted, fisting his hands in his sheets. Ron grimaced and sat down heavily sideways on his mattress.

"Well it is to me, Harry," he told him grumpily. "And it is to Hermione."

"Hermione understands, I've already _spoken_ to Hermione!"

"He's been plain bloody wicked to Hermione for years."

"I know," Harry admitted meekly, "but it was because he was jealous of you, Ron. You heard what I told you earlier – he's… well, he's in love with me, and-"

"So bloody fitting that that camp little prat should turn out _queer_," he muttered darkly.

"Thanks, Ron," Harry replied, frowning. He couldn't believe Ron had actually just said that.

"Oh! You know what I mean!" he snapped, his ears reddening from either annoyance or embarrassment.

"Hey, maybe you'd better get off my bed in case I come over all _queer_ and try and jump you," Harry returned irritably.

"I didn't mean it like that…" 

"Well if you took your foot out of your mouth every now and then you might get around to saying something you do mean!"

Ron scowled and picked at his jumper.

"Do you know what?" Harry began, "When I went to see Draco he had a go at me. He told me I shouldn't be down there moaning at him-" Ron looked up sharply, as if about to criticise Draco for not being there for Harry when he needed him, "-and said I was an idiot for arguing with you and to come back up and make up otherwise he'd be forced to charm the word 'Prat' into my forehead until I did."

Evidently, Ron didn't know what to say to that, because he worked his mouth soundlessly before muttering, finally, "You are a prat."

"There, you see? You can agree on some things," Harry grinned optimistically, hoping to encourage the other boy to grin back. Ron's face twitched as though he was fighting the urge, and instead deepened his scowl, adding a pout and thumping Harry lightly in the arm.

"You want to watch it, y'know," he warned, "I might do it instead, if you keep on like that."

Harry laughed at him; "Yeah, but knowing your handwriting it'd probably look more like 'Pert'."

"HA! At least mine doesn't look like I'm trained in fine art, high-calligraphy and bloody _embroidery_!"

"Oh God, I can assure you that there's no way Lucius Malfoy would allow a son of his to learn anything like that," Harry said with a laugh, shaking his head.

"My mum made us all learn to sew…" Ron admitted, shuddering, "but only because she'd have been swamped with repairs otherwise…"

They grinned at each other.

"Ron," Harry began again, "I know you think I'm mad for liking Draco and everything – and, I mean, I never expected I would – but if you just gave him a chance… just a chance to show you that he can at least be tolerable... Maybe you'd understand."

"I don't reckon I'll ever understand, Harry. I just can't bloody pretend he hasn't spent the whole time I've known him being horrible about my family and picking on you – and Hermione!"

"I know, Ron, and I'm not asking you to forget, but perhaps you can sort of… forgive him enough to get past all that and just try and tolerate him for my sake," Harry said pleadingly. "He's been a really good friend to me. He could have sat and tried to brainwash me into believing that you two were horrible and I didn't need you – and, I mean, it wouldn't have worked – but he didn't. He made me come and talk to you. I tried earlier but I could only find Herm… I'm sorry, I am, but until you've even tried to get to know him it's not fair to say he can't be alright when he wants to be, because he can. He really can."

"I don't know, Harry…" Ron said awkwardly. "That's asking a bloody lot, you know!"

"Ron, please try – just try and be civil to him and not criticise me for actually liking him. Please?"

"I'll try not to criticise you for liking him," Ron agreed with a huff. "Not out loud, anyway."

"Will you be civil to him?"

"When? It's not like we have to see each other outside class, is it?"

"No, I know, but… just… if you have to."

Ron seemed to struggle inwardly for a time, then finally mumbled, "I'll try if he does."

Harry positively glowed with relief, "Cool! He will. Thanks, Ron." He reached out and pulled the ginger boy into a playful hug and found himself wrestled with his arm twisted up his back, just enough so it would hurt if he moved. 

"Gotcha!" Ron laughed, letting go when Harry cried, 'Ow! Gerroff' into his pillow, chuckling. "Charlie reckoned I never would get that one right."

The next time Harry saw Gavin it was on the way down to dinner on Monday evening. They bumped into each other in the corridor and Simon, Ron and Hermione tactfully dismissed themselves, heading off down the stairs toward the Great Hall.

"Hey," Gavin blushed, nodding for Harry to follow him behind a tapestry. Once concealed, at the bottom of a small and dingy staircase, the older boy leaned down to kiss him chastely on the cheek, and looked around as though expecting Sirius Black to pounce on him from the shadows.

Harry gave an awkward chuckle and reached for his hand. "Sirius is alright about it, you know – just put me through a _really_ embarrassing talk, that's all. He even said he doesn't think you're leading me astray."

The older boy reddened and tucked his hair behind his ear. "It were jus' _so_ embarrassin', though! I thought I were gonna _die_ of embarrassment!" He seemed to give a little sigh and gave Harry a welcome hug, nuzzling into his hair. "Or maybe they were gonna stop me seein' you…"

Harry squeezed back tighter.

"I know we' not been together long an' everythin', but I really like you," the Ravenclaw went on, "an' I really didn' wan' t'get you in trouble… I were sorta worried tha' you wouldn' wan' t'see me after that."

"Gavin," Harry sighed, "don't be an idiot, I'm not that fickle."

"I am sure you are not, Mr Potter, however, you will soon be late for dinner." Both boys froze at the sound of McGonagall's heels clicking down the steps. "Come on, the both of you, I shall accompany you down, lest you should become further delayed en route."

The boys let go of each other, cringing and set off down the corridor, the Gryffindor head following at a respectable distance.

When they entered the Great Hall and Harry slipped into his seat opposite Ron the red-haired boy and the frizzy-haired girl beside him noted his flustered appearance and immediately hissed, "Harry? What's the matter?"

"McGonagall," he muttered, spooning potato chunks onto his plate and hiding his face from the teachers' table behind his out-stretched arm.

"What'd she do?" Ron demanded, staring in exactly that direction.

"Tell you later…"

Hermione suddenly gave a small gasp. She was looking over Harry's shoulder at the Ravenclaw table. "Oh, _Harry_!" she exclaimed quietly. "You weren't caught _again_!"

Harry turned even redder.

"Yeah," Ron tutted, looking at him and shaking his head, "they were caught."

"Goodness, Harry!" Hermione scolded, inadvertently attracting George and Seamus' attention. "You would have though the first time would have been warning enough!"

"The first time at what?" Seamus asked, looking at the three of them suspiciously.

"May I have your attention?" McGonagall was standing up at the teachers' table and for a horrible, terrifying moment Harry, and judging by the look on his face, Gavin, thought she was about to announce her little discovery to the school. However, she continued, "The Headmaster would like to make an announcement."

Dumbledore stood and gave her a smile. "Good evening, students. I won't keep you all for long, but I have some news which I think you will all be most delighted to hear. At the end of this month is Halloween, as you are all undoubtedly aware. However, this year we have decided to cancel the feast and, upon Mr Black's suggestion, will instead be undertaking a practical lesson." The entire school stared at him in horror. "There is no need to look so worried," he smiled, eyes twinkling, "for I am sure the lesson will be immense fun for all of us, as well as an experience we shall not forget for a very long time.

"We will spend the evening in the school grounds, re-enacting the Samhain rites our ancestors would have performed annually to bid farewell to the dying year and welcome in the new. In addition to this, there will be a party, of sorts, and great merriment to be had. Dress robes will not be worn as it would be rather impractical, but you may spend much of the night socialising as a school.

"In the meantime," he smiled, "you may continue with your meals."

Everyone seemed to hesitate, processing this new information, before breaking into discussion. Lavender and Parvati complained that it would be cold and horrible and they'd rather have a Halloween ball where they could dress up and take proper dates. The boys rolled their eyes at them and said that it'd be pretty cool. The twins tried to tell Lavender and Parvati that the rites had to be done naked, which was why the dress robes would be impractical, and they squealed with indignation until Hermione told them it was highly unlikely that nudity would be necessary.

"I think it's cool," Ron declared, grinning. "Sirius is wicked in class, so this should be bloody fantastic! I've never done a big ritual like that before."

"Me either," Harry agreed, "and at least we aren't expected to get up and _dance_!"

Hermione was delving around in her bag pocket and something fell out onto the floor. Colin picked it up and handed it to her. "You dropped your letter, Hermione," he said with a small giggle. "Who's it from? Any one exciting?"

"Er – not really," she said quickly, snatching it back and stuffing it in her pocket again.

"Is that the one you got this morning?" Ron asked curiously. "Who's it from, then?"

"Oh, no one…" she said dismissively.

"Don't be stupid, it's got to be from someone!"

"Alright, it's from Viktor," she admitted irritably.

"Krum?"

"Yes, Krum – who else?"

Ron stabbed his fork into his pork chop, scowling. "You're still writing to him, then?"

"Yes, why wouldn't I be?"

Ron didn't answer. For a moment he said nothing and then he suddenly turned to her, still wielding the chunk of meat on the end of his fork, and said "Hermione, will you come to the Halloween thing with me?"

Hermione accepted, which was quite the talk of the Tower for a few days, but it seemed that everyone had really rather been expecting it. For the next couple of weeks both Ron and Hermione were a little nervy in each other's company, which Harry found endearingly amusing. They had been friends for years and as comfortable together as a pair of old slippers, but suddenly, now that things were a little more romantically inclined, they were both walking on eggshells.

A week before Halloween each year was taken into the Great Hall one by one to receive a talk from Sirius about the events that would be taking place on the night. He told them, in some detail, that they would be taking a Dumb Supper, a silent meal in which their relatives, and perhaps friends, who had passed away would return, briefly, to see them. They would 'share' their food with the spirits, although they would not take it physically, and the spirits would not be able to speak to them; nor would they be able to speak to their dead. This was why, he explained, it was a 'Dumb Supper'. He warned that it would be a fairly emotional experience for most of them, and that if they wanted to sit out of the Supper they could do so, and take part only in the remaining rituals and games. He told them to think hard about whether they thought they could cope with such an experience and assured them that no one who opted out would frowned upon. The mood for much of the remaining week was slightly sombre.

As evening drew near, there was a distinct crackling of excitement in the air. Harry had never felt anything like it. All day he had been able to _feel_ that it was Halloween. Even in the school, where students strolled down the corridors discussing homework with the ghosts, there was a sensation of the Other World being closer, almost as though you could reach out an touch it, a taut curtain between the folds of which the past was about to step. He was nervous. He would be seeing his parents. He wanted to show them that he was growing up alright. He wanted to tell them that he was a prefect and that he was captain of the Quidditch team, just like his dad had been. But he wasn't supposed to speak to them and he wasn't entirely sure he'd be able to keep his mouth shut.

Every time he had spoken about it to Gavin the older boy had changed the subject. Harry decided that he must be feeling as nervous as he was about his parents coming. Draco, too, had been extremely reluctant to talk about it. Eventually he had uncomfortably admitted that when his father killed Lilith he hadn't used Avada Kedavra, as Harry had assumed, but had smashed her tiny body against the wall. The blood was still there, if you looked behind the right picture, and while he didn't want to opt out because he was desperate to see his grandmother, he was also very familiar with the Bloody Baron and Nearly Headless Nick; the last thing he wanted to see was his baby sister as a pulverised mess. 

Hermione seemed excited. It was a new experience for her, and she'd only lost a great-grandparent in her life time. She was hoping that some of her ancestors would return to visit her, to see if she could establish who, in her ancient family tree, she received her gift from.

Ron, on the other hand, seemed very quiet for days beforehand. The twins were also strangely subdued and Ginny barely said a peep. Harry didn't understand why. They had both their parents and three of their grandparents, still. Mr Weasley's father had died in the Second Muggle War, when he himself was a boy, so they had never met him. Harry didn't ask, afraid of upsetting them or seeming insensitive. He decided he'd probably find out on the night.

At half past seven, when the sun was completely gone, the school assembled in the grounds. Twelve huge bonfires had been placed in a large circle around the lawns, stretching from the edge of the forest to the lake and the castle walls. Four smaller ones blazed in the centre, surrounding an altar. The students were roughly ordered so that they were sitting on rugs, each House making up a quarter of the circle; siblings brought to sit together where their Houses were different. 

Harry looked across at Gavin, sitting with his friends on the Ravenclaw side. He didn't seem very nervous, now. He was laughing with the red-haired girl from the Quidditch team. The Weasleys were huddled together, Ginny crammed in between Ron and Fred for support. She'd admitted to being a bit scared earlier, and Hermione had countered that it would be exciting, not scary. Hermione herself was now bouncing to his left, sitting next to Ron, obviously a small, partially unstable ball of nervous energy.

Draco sat nearly on the opposite side of the circle, the teachers obviously having decided to use the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs as makeshift buffers between the other two houses. He had his hands clasped in his lap and was staring at the grass before him fixedly. Harry hoped he was going to be alright.

The first part of the ritual involved the opening of the Gate. In the midst of the inner circle, before the altar, Dumbledore stood, in his hands a large ball of dark, almost-black fire; around him Sirius, Professor Vector, Snape and McGonagall stood outside the four small bonfires, each holding a ball of coloured flame themselves. Sirius's glowed blood red, Vector's dark blue, Snape's green and McGonagall's white. Dumbledore spoke. His voice was loud and commanding, and the words, whatever they were, were not in English. Around him, the four other teachers echoed his words, each then adding a different phrase which caused the flames they held to burn brighter and bigger.

Harry watched, transfixed as they worked, their voices sounding powerful and commanding, so very different from the tones they used in normal speech. Suddenly, in the West, there was a loud ripping sound. Everyone turned and stared. A dim blue haze seemed to hover above them. Harry had expected to see a gaping hole in the atmosphere, pouring forth spirits of all descriptions. All there was appeared to be a thin, bluish cloud drifting low over them. His eyes snapped back to the ground as Dumbledore spoke.

"In a few moments your plates will be filled with seasonal food stuffs. You will divide a small portion onto the spare plates in front of you and from that point on, no one shall speak a word. Not one. This is incredibly important.

"When you have finished your meals you may give thanks to your ancestors and loved ones for taking the time to visit and bid them good wishes for their journey back. This will also be done in silence. They will understand everything you say without the need for you speak it.

"As your neighbours also finish you will take their hands and wait for the circle to be complete. Upon the closing of the Gate you may speak."

Harry looked down, he hadn't noticed any plates at all and was about to panic – what if he needed to eat or his parents wouldn't come to him? But to his surprise the plates were now there, laid out for himself and a guest, complete with cutlery. Moments later the plates blossomed with pulped vegetables, potatoes and some meat, which appeared to be both beef and pork. Unlike the Yule Ball, when everyone had chosen their own meals, all the students and the teachers who were mingled amongst them appeared to have the same meal served to them. The food was appearing on the plates one at a time, apparently descending from seventh to first year, and, seeing that some of the older students were already carefully passing some of their own onto the empty plates of their guests, he copied. A second later the first whisperings of spirits gliding past sent shivers down his spine.

Looking around he saw hundreds of people, their colours washed out and their bodies partially transparent, drifting around, searching for their loved ones. Across the field Harry saw Gavin being approached by a tall, upright spectre and a woman in a dark shawl. He wondered if they were his parents, even though the woman appeared to be too old. Perhaps they were his grandparents.

Beside him, Hermione was clutching her cutlery uncomfortably tightly, staring into the circle as though trying to guess who would come to her. On her other side, Harry suddenly realised, the four youngest Weasleys already had visitors. Before them stood two men, both with vivid red hair, even though the rest of them seemed faint and only partially real. The taller of the two men also seemed much older. He was smiling down at them from where he stood in a World War II army uniform, his rifle slung over his shoulder. The other man seemed very young. In fact, he was little older than Ron – he was even wearing Hogwarts uniform. He crouched and smoothed Ginny's hair, smiling a little. He was slim and fairly tall, with thin hands and long fingers. Harry was so busy wondering who he was that he jumped when a coldness touched his arm.

He whirled around and, to his shock, found he was staring into the face of Cedric Diggory. The boy was grinning and stood up, stepping between him and Remus to stand in the circle. With him came two more people; Harry's parents. For a moment he stared at them all, not sure what he was supposed to do. Then Diggory crouched before him and reached for his hand. It was like plunging his limbs into icy water. He felt cold all over and gazed at the dead boy before him, finding that he was positively beaming. Harry was confused when Cedric stood back up and looked to Harry's parents. They smiled at him, and he gave Harry a small wave before running, a few inches above the grass, to where his former Housemates sat.

Opposite, Draco swallowed with difficulty. Nothing had even touched his lips, yet and he could see her. She was standing twenty feet away, smiling, a bundle of swaddling cloth in her arms. He was afraid to eat, knowing that if he did, she would approach and if she approached she may be holding a bundle of bloody infant. _Do it, you idiot. Just do it. _Carefully, he closed his teeth around the small piece of potato and began to chew. In the same instant she moved. But before she could even reach him a small, charcoal blur buzzed past. Draco stared around, wondering what it was, until the blur returned and began to sniff at his plate. _Cerberus!_ He gave a soundless gasp of joy and reached out to the hare-brained puppy. The dog proceeded to thoroughly lick Draco's fingers, but it wasn't like he remembered it; the puppy's tongue felt like he was being pelted with snowballs.

Looking up, he saw his grandmother looking down at him tenderly. She smiled and began to lower herself to the floor. Draco recoiled slightly, still terrified of what she may be carrying, but her gentle look of admonishment prevented him from scrambling away from the circle altogether. Carefully, she peeled back the cloth and showed him a new-born child, completely free of gore or injury. She was terribly small and had just the wispiest strands of white-blonde hair protruding from beneath the blankets. She stared up at him with wide eyes and wriggled slightly. She was perfect.

Sirius walked slowly towards Harry and Remus. His role was over for the time being, he would return to take up the position when the Gate needed closing for the year. He had planned this because he knew they would come. After speaking to Harry about the way his parents would react, he had asked Dumbledore if they could recreate the ritual. The Headmaster had thought it a fantastic idea, and now here he was. And here they were. James and Lily sat on the ground in front of their son, Lily leaning on James the way she always used to when they were alive.

Remus looked up as he approached. Harry was apparently trying to show them his prefect badge. James turned, slowly, looking up to where Sirius stood. Suddenly, he was on his feet, looking from Harry to Sirius with such pride shining in his eyes that Sirius had to swallow several times to stop himself breaking down. He looked the same as the last time he had seen him alive; the time when they last checked the secret was safe with Peter. _I'm sorry_, Sirius mouthed silently. James gave him his best prefect scowl and shook his head. He looked for a long time at Harry, then at Remus, whose own parents were sitting with him but apparently taking more interest in the exchange occurring between Harry and Lily. She was carefully giving him a once-over, and Harry was smiling as if they were playing a game.

James looked back to Sirius and then cast a very meaningful glance at Remus. Sirius shook his head, abashed. James pushed his glasses up his nose, gave him another scowl and the same impatient look he used to give to third years whose excuses he didn't believe one bit. It made him smile. That was the old James, alright. And James thought he was a prat. _That said, you always thought I was a prat…_ James nodded, grinning. If he had been alive, Sirius would have clouted him.

Lily stroked her son's hair once and smiled at Remus. Even without saying a word he knew what she meant. She had been a sister to him during their last years at school – and long afterward – and they could read each other like large-print books. She liked the way her son was turning out. She glanced over her shoulder and back at him, nodding, slowly. She understood about Cross.

A moment later Cedric Diggory bounded back over to them. He was still grinning, but tugged at James' sleeve and looked toward the centre, where many of the spirits now seemed to be heading. James nodded and touched Lily to tell her it was time to go. She looked at him, then at Harry and Remus and gave a broad smile. Leaning forward, she brushed freezing lips across each of their cheeks, leaving icy breezes in her wake. She stood up and pointed at Harry, as if to say, _Now make sure you behave, Harry Potter!_ Harry nodded, grinning back at her. She moved over to James and gently brushed Sirius' arm as they began to move toward the altar.

Harry watched for a moment, then took the hand Remus offered him, reached for Hermione's on the other side. _It's weird, _he thought_, I expected to be so sad when they left…_ He wasn't, though. He felt oddly like he'd see them again. After all, he'd done so in both the Mirror of Erised and the graveyard since they'd died… The chances of his meeting them again seemed bizarrely in his favour.

When the ritual had been finished, the Gate closed, the rituals wrapped up and plates removed, it was announced that the merry-making should begin. Enchanted instruments began to pipe lively traditional music and the pupils grouped off and tentatively began to discuss what had happened. Around the largest bonfires teachers now appeared to be supervising old-fashioned games. Apples floated in mid air as Professor Flitwick assisted two second years with a game of Apple Snapping. Professor Vector was now standing by a huge half-barrel filled with water as some other students attempted to catch apples which floated on the top, using only their mouths; Apple Bobbing. Across the field, wreathed in a luminous fog, Professor Trelawney appeared to be supervising various forms of divination, her beads and bangles glittering in the firelight.

Towards the end of the field, Seamus and some of the others were carefully modifying some mulled wine, which McGonagall was carefully ladling into chalices where the altar had been. It was now covered in various Halloween snacks, from pumpkin snaps to sugared mice. Harry looked around him. The four Weasleys were nowhere to be seen. Neither was Hermione. Harry shrugged to himself and decided to go and find Gavin.

Remus sat by the fire nearest the cottage. He cupped a chalice of mulled wine in his hands. It had been quite an experience, seeing Lily and James with Harry again. He was deeply relieved that Harry had taken it so well. He had been afraid that seeing them would have been too much for him, that he would have been upset and wanted to go back to the castle. Instead, Harry was standing over with the Ravenclaws, talking.

He gazed into the flames; fire had always seemed so alive to him. He'd thought it was a monster when his father had first allowed him into the garden while he had a bonfire. He had only been three. The way it roared and crackled fascinated him, and he wanted to touch it, but his mother had held him back despite his infantile protests. She had a baby on her hip, and clutched firmly at Remus's hand to stop him toddling nearer. That was with his first family, before he was bitten. Afterward, his parents couldn't manage and he was taken to a new mummy and daddy – the parents who had visited tonight – and brought up deep in the Scottish Highlands, seven miles from the nearest remote village. Their house had been a small and made of stone and slate, perched on the side of a hill. It had been a very solitary childhood.

Remus had been very close to his mother. He never considered that she was anything other than his 'real' mum because he could barely remember his birth mother anyway. He had spent all his time with her, reading and learning from books and the world around them. He knew the hills where he grew up like the back of his hand. They owned a lot of land, back then, but he rarely saw any other children and was desperately shy. When he had had to come to Hogwarts, when he had received his letter, he had cried for hours. He didn't _want_ to go. He wanted to stay with his mother and father. Of course, there had also been the complications that surrounded his condition, and he was afraid that the other children wouldn't like him. But they had; the students in his own House had been wonderful. For the first time in his life, he'd had friends.

"You know what? This reminds me of that summer, back at home, when you spent all the night on the beach, gazing into space." 

Remus jumped as Sirius's voice whispered in his ear. He turned to glance at him. The other man was leaning on his shoulder, now, staring at him with intense blue eyes. "I was thinking," he murmured in response, turning back to look at the flames and sipping his mulled wine.

"You're always thinking."

"Is that a problem for you?" He didn't even bother looking at him that time.

"Sometimes."

Remus cast him a half-glance, then shook his head slightly.

"When I want your attention, it is."

"You've got my attention," he sighed, allowing him a small smile. "What's the matter?"

"I was wondering when we're going to stop pretending," Sirius said softly.

Remus felt himself shiver, even though he was standing mere feet form the bonfire and was wrapped up in heavy robes. He didn't know how to answer, didn't think he could. His mouth was dry and he felt he might choke if he attempted to say anything.

"I remember. I remembered weeks ago and I was wondering how come you didn't bother reminding me, Moony. And if there was anything else you didn't think I should know."

"It wasn't like that!" he said urgently, turning to him sharply and dropping his chalice. "I _couldn't_ tell you, Padfoot! What if you still didn't remember? Even thought I was making it up? It didn't even think you were ready to know that!"

Sirius stared at him as if trying to see if he was telling truth. "Were you glad I didn't remember?"

"No! No, it _hurt_." He dropped his voice to a whisper, "Sirius, now is not the time, nor the place for this conversation. Your students are everywhere and the last thing either you or I need is for them to grasp hold of this."

"I don't fucking care what the kids think!" Sirius replied, frowning. "Remus, if the problem is that _you_ want to pretend it never happened, just tell me. Now."

"Don't be an idiot, Sirius, of course I don't!"

"Then what is your problem?" the other man demanded. "What gave you the right to decide which of my memories I should and shouldn't have access to?"

"They were my memories, too."

"Yeah, they were, and for some reason you didn't think I was good enough to share them – which, if I remember rightly, is very different to how you felt then."

"That was fourteen years ago."

"So you're saying that you don't care any more?" Sirius asked, suddenly strangely quiet.

Remus sighed, "Of course I care, you dolt."

"Then how could you not tell me?"

"Because I didn't think you'd want to know, Sirius! For God's sake, look at me! I'm not a twenty-one year old, anymore. I'm… different. Too different," he finished softly.

"I see."

They stood in silence, each now gazing into the flames.

"So basically," Sirius said slowly, "you didn't tell me because you thought that because you've got older I wouldn't be interested anymore?"

"Sirius…"

"And you called _me_ a dolt!"

"It is not just about that-"

"Twenty-fucking-one…" Sirius muttered to himself, as if it were the stupidest thing he'd ever heard.

"SIRIUS!" Remus snapped suddenly, "Don't you dare think you know everything about me!"

The dark-haired man stepped back in alarm.

"Yes, I was twenty-one – I was twenty-one and as far as I knew the person I loved had ruined my life! Destroyed _everything_ that meant _anything_ to me! I never believed it, never honestly thought you were capable of that, but there were certain things, certain measures I had to take just to carry on existing."

Realisation dawned on Sirius's face. "There's someone else…"

"No."

"But – but there _was_… afterward?"

"_No_."

"I don't understand, Moony," Sirius huffed frustratedly, "I don't see what you mean if there wasn't-"

"There was _never_ anyone else!"

"Never?"

"No, _never_," Remus told him insistently, refusing to look at him.

Sirius's stance suddenly changed, "You've been completely alone… all those years?"

Remus gave a short nod and tucked his arms tightly around himself.

"_Why_?" Sirius asked in exasperation.

Remus gave a tiny sardonic laugh, "I didn't _want_ anyone else."

"Oh _Moony_…" Sirius murmured, stepping nearer and reaching out to embrace him. Remus side-stepped in the other direction.

"Kids, Sirius."

"Forget the kids! I don't give a fuck what they think!"

"What about what I think?" Remus asked, finally fixing him with a defensive stare. 

"What?"

"Sirius, I have spent fourteen years attempting to convince myself I was better off without you. Then, I spent the last few months convincing myself that I could go back to being the way we were while we were here. Back to being just friends and nothing more. I cannot just over look that. I can't pretend the past fifteen years never happened!"

There was silence once more. Then Sirius tentatively asked, "Will you try?"

Harry wandered away from the Ravenclaws. Gavin wasn't with them, they had no idea where he was and exchanged awkward looks when Harry asked them. He hoped the other boy was alright. The spirits who had come to him seemed imposing and if they were Harry's ancestors he would probably have been a little afraid of them.

Harry strolled absently across the field. The smell of the autumnal air and the warmth of the fires, with their flickering glow and rasping crackle made it all seem somewhat mystical, which he supposed it was, but it all added to the feeling that this was an echo of something so ancient that he could almost feel the roots of time stretching back into history. 

"Harry! Hey, Harry, c'm'over here!"

Harry whirled around to see where Seamus was calling him from, the boy's voice distinctive enough that he knew immediately who it was.

"Hey…"

"Harry, here, have some of this!" Seamus grinned, shoving a cup into his hands and winking conspiratorially.

"Er… I was looking for someone, actually…"

"Ah, that can wait," Seamus grinned, "Can't it, Dean?"

"Yeah… heh… heh heh…" Dean grinned back, looking slightly unfocused.

"What is it?" Harry asked, tilting the vessel to look at its contents.

"Juuuuust some mulled wine, Harry – have a sip, go on."

"Er, no. Thanks."

"Go ooooon!"

"Really, I'm fine – I have to-"

"Go _on_, Harry!"

"I um…" The look on Seamus' face suggested that he wasn't going anywhere until he'd accepted some of the drink. He hoped they hadn't been taking lessons from the twins and gulped it down. "There, thank you. Now I've got to go and find Ga… someone. See you later."

"Bye Harry!" Seamus and Dean cooed sweetly and promptly fell about laughing.

Draco picked his way through the crowds, hoping to catch Harry and somehow separate him from the rest of the students so that they could talk. He wanted to tell him about Lilith, tell him that she had been perfect and pretty and that she had their mother's eyes. Suddenly, close to the edge of the forest he caught sight of a very familiar silhouette. He began to hurry towards him, glad that he was on the periphery of the celebrations and potentially easier to communicate with discreetly. As he approached he realised that Harry wasn't moving. He stood as if frozen, staring into the forest. Draco followed his gaze, wondering if the other boy had caught sight of some dangerous beast lurking in the shadows. What he saw actually made his heart skip a beat and he looked back to see Harry turn and walk away, loping along as if wanting to run, heading towards the wobbling shapes of his housemates.

There had been a lengthy silence between Sirius and Remus, after they settled near the fire. Sirius had learned many years before that if Remus was quiet it was best to hold out for as long as possible before saying anything. Which, in Sirius' case was rarely more than ten minutes.

"This reminds me of the first time we kissed," he said eventually, tugging at a tuft of grass beside him.

Remus took a long breath and replied, "No… no no no. Don't even think about it, Padfoot."

"Too late. Already thinking about it."

"Then you'll be disappointed," Remus told him firmly.

"Oh _Moo_! Don't be such a bloody cold fish!"

"I reserve the right to be as cold and fishy as I wish, thank you."

The pair were sitting close to the fire; Remus had drawn his knees up before him and was hugging them tightly while Sirius sprawled long, leathered legs in front of him.

The dark-haired man gave a loud huff and stared at the side of his companion's face. "You won't even talk about it," he complained.

"Not while we are surrounded by several hundred nosy teenagers, I won't, no."

"So you will when we're on our own?"

The shorter man left a long pause before sighing, "Possibly. And that's an 'I may possibly speak about that incident at some point in the future', Sirius, not a 'there is every possibility that you will get lucky'."

"Tut. I know that."

"It won't prevent you from attempting to alter the fact. I know you. I am also fully wise to your methods and will _not_ be drinking anything in your presence for the foreseeable future."

"For fuck's sake, Moony! I'm not a bloody kid anymore, I'm not interested in getting in your robes this time! Well… not _just_ interested in that."

"Keep going, Padfoot, say it a little louder. I think there is a deaf Inuit somewhere in Alaska who didn't quite catch that statement."

"Smart arse."

"When you start to act like an adult again, a skill you've apparently lost your knack at in the past quarter of an hour, I will be more prepared to talk to you, Sirius."

"Oh don't be so bloody anal!"

Remus cast him an unamused look.

"No pun intended…"

"I'll bet there wasn't," Remus muttered, shaking his head wearily.

"Remy-"

"Don't call me that."

"_Remy_, just talk about it. Please? Just about us… about what we were… if we can ever be like that again…"

Remus closed his eyes and rested his forehead on his knees for a moment. "I don't know, Siri. If I knew I'd have told you straight out, you know that."

"You knew you loved me for _years_ and you never told me," Sirius reminded him sulkily.

"You never told me either."

"I never loved you for as long!" He paused, then corrected, "Alright – I never admitted it to myself as early as you did."

"Padfoot, the fact of the matter is that I just don't _know_. I wasn't expecting to have to face this so soon. I've been working on ways to keep you from the subject, not trying to decide whether I want things back to the way they were. They were never perfect, were they?"

"No, but if they'd been perfect they'd have been boring."

"I'd be waiting for history to repeat itself…"

"It's not going to, Moony, we won't let it!"

"We couldn't stop it the last time…"

"This is different, though! Come on, Remy, please. Think of all the fun we used to have!"

"'All the fun we used to have' is neither something I wish to consider nor discuss just here, thank you."

"Then lets go inside. No one can hear us there."

"You're on duty."

"Stuff being on duty! Half of the little sods are probably going for a grope behind trees, they don't need my assistance for that," Sirius replied, standing up and holding out a hand for Remus to take. "Come on. Come home."

Sighing and rolling his eyes, Remus clambered to his feet of his own accord, completely ignoring the hand extended to him. "Fine. We'll go home."

"Good."

"To _talk_."

"Yes."

"Not _do_."

"Well…"

"_Not_ do."

"Alright, alright, not 'do'."

"Good."

Together, the two men set off towards the house they shared, complete oblivious to what was happening a few yards away.

Harry reached Seamus and Dean and immediately prised the Irish boy's drink from his fingers and downed it. Seamus stared at him with reproach.

"Harry Potter! Didn't anyone ever tell you it was rude to snatch someone else's drink and not say cheers?"

"Sorry," Harry said, miserably.

"Here, you look like you need another," Dean said, squinting at him and trying three times to press a full chalice into his hands. "Wassa matter?"

Harry took a rasping breath. "Nothing," he said, taking a large gulp of the modified mulled wine.

"You sure, Harry? You look like you've had your heart broken or somet'ing…"

Harry gave a splutter and handed the chalice back to Dean, mumbling "'Scuse me… I have to go…"

They watched as he ran off into the darkness. "Ah, I t'ink our Harry's in love y'know…"

"Really," Dean asked through a belch. "With a bloke?"

"No, wit' the Faery Queen herself!"

Dean gave a drunken snort and slurred, "What… heh… hehehe… you mean Malfoy?"

Harry ran off into the relative safety of the edge of the forest. He had a sickly feeling that he was going to start sobbing any time soon and he really wished he knew where Ron and Hermione were so he could tell them. No, forget Ron and Hermione, he wanted to speak to _Draco_. As if responding to that very thought Harry started as a hand grasped his arm. His yell was stifled by a pale hand and he could make out a pair of metallic eyes shining like a cat's in the darkness.

"Harry, are you alright?"

Harry's lip quivered for a moment after the pale palm was lifted away, and he eventually shook his head and stared at the place where the floor would have been if he could have seen it. "No…" he whimpered, barely audibly.

"I saw what happened before. The smarmy little prat…" Draco said quietly, neatly controlled anger in his voice.

"They – they were _kissing_, Draco…" Harry whispered mournfully, sounding as though the world was about to end.

"I know. The bloody moron has no idea what he's doing. I should go and hex the little pillock into teeny tiny fragments…"

"No! No, you mustn't!"

Draco gave a tut and began to mutter that he would do no such thing, even though he'd like to, but stopped short and said instead, "What in the name of Agrippa have you been drinking? Your breath could strip paint!"

"Seamus… Seamus gave me some mulled wine…"

"Mulled wine? That's more than flaming mulled wine, you idiot!"

"I know… that's why I had some more when I saw… when I saw…" Harry's voice shook and he was slurring slightly as the alcohol began to seep into his blood stream.

Draco drew an exasperated breath and conceded, "Well, I suppose we all do imbecilic things from time to time. I knew that prat was no good for you. The stupid little Neanderthal has absolutely no right to – to _toy_ with you like that!"

"He's not a Neanderthal…" Harry complained, giving a small stagger. Whatever Finnegan had put in that mulled wine was obviously intensely potent.

"Well if he's not a semi-human, part-ape, excessively follicled barbarian – which I personally think is a perfect description, actually – he has even less excuse for his behaviour. No decent person tries to deflower you one week and proceeds to engage in oral acrobatics with someone else behind your back!"

"He didn't try to d…d-de…de-fluv… do anything before, it was me!" Harry protested.

"You're always bloody defending him, aren't you? Even when he doesn't deserve it."

"No… and – and… he doesn't deserve it… not anymore… he's a prat…"

"Among other more accurate expletives which I will not use in public, yes."

"And you were right, weren't you, Draco?" Harry said, giving another stagger so Draco had to grab him to stop the drunken idiot from falling over. He wasn't sure what Finnegan had done to that wine but it seemed to have the approximate potency of a gallon of wormwood Absinthe.

"Yes, of course I was right. I'm right about everything," he agreed, struggling to keep the Gryffindor on his feet.

"I thought he was upset because of his mum and dad…"

"His what?"

"His mum and dad are dead… he was adopted… I thought they would come to see him tonight… but there was just two ooooold ghosts…"

"Well, perhaps his parents didn't like him any more than I do. Maybe they killed themselves when they realised they had spawned a demon."

"Draco!"

"Oh… alright, I'm sorry… But not _very_ sorry. Just slightly sorry."

Harry's head flopped onto his shoulder. 

"You'd better not dribble nor vomit on me, Potter, or it will be the last thing you ever do," Draco warned, holding the increasingly inebriated teen against him to prevent him from ending face up in the mud.

"He doesn't like me much, does he?" Harry sighed, allowing his weight to slump completely onto the smaller boy.

"Then he's an idiot."

"Do you like me, Draco?"

"Yes, Harry, I like you," he confirmed, attempting to straighten the other boy up. _Even when you're a drunken idiot._

"I like you, too…" Harry grinned against his shoulder.

For the merest moment Draco felt his heart skip. "Yes, I'm sure you do. Now, try and stand up for your_self_."

"Can't."

"You can."

"Can't," Harry argued, beginning to sound like a very obstinate child.

"Well, the thing is, either you stand up or I drop you. It's entirely your decision."

"You won't… you're nice."

"I might be nice, but unfortunately I'm not terribly strong, so it's not a case of whether I want to drop you or not, but it's becoming increasingly pressing."

He gave Harry a small shove and tried to balance him on his own feet. It just about worked. Nonetheless, he held out his hands in readiness for what appeared to be an imminent fall.

"Drac…" Harry said slowly, frowning.

"Hm?"

"Do you love me?"

Draco hesitated for a moment; "Yes, I do. You know that…"

"Gavin doesn't love me…"

"Well, I thought we'd established that Cross is a stupid, hairy moron?"

"I want him to love me," Harry told him indignantly.

"Yes, well, trust me when I say we can't always have what we want."

Harry suddenly stopped and looked at him as if almost sober for a moment. "I'm sorry," he said, his bottom lip fully quivering all of a sudden.

"What for?"

"I'm horrible to you…" Suddenly he gave a small _hic_ and began to sob.

"Oh no. Harry, don't start crying – really, don't. I'm not very good with crying, please don't cry!"

"You l-love me and I'm horrible to you and I t-tell you about how much I like Gavin and h-hes h-h-horrible to me…"

"Potter, stop. Now."

"I'm r-really s-s-sorry." Draco suddenly found himself with arms full of Gryffindor again. _Great. Just my poxy luck. The first time _he_ embraces _me_ it's because he's drunk and woebegone because the imbecile I warned him about is off chasing skirts. Where the hell is the heart-felt declaration of undying love? _he demanded of whomever may be picking up on his thoughts at that moment, _Where is it?_

At that precise moment he felt an unfamiliar sensation that he quickly identified as lips. On his neck.

"You r-really like me and I want to feel like that too… about you."

"Harry…" he began warningly. _I take it back! I take it back – you were right. Now is not the time for that…_

The sensation continued.

"Harry, I am not going to let you do this."

"If I told you I loved you would kiss me?"

"Harry, you're only saying this because you're completely drunk on whatever that stupid Irish prat gave you."

"Would you?"

"Don't do this to me, Harry. Don't."

"I love you."

"That is _it_!" Harry met the floor very suddenly. "I am not going to let you do this to me! I know you're drunk, I know you've just seen the Missing Link with someone else, but that does _not_ give you divine right abuse _me_!"

"Draco…" Harry whimpered forlornly.

"Just sober up, you pillock. And then find someone else to whine at because I am not about to stand around and allow you to pillage my feelings like that! You can't _make yourself _feel something! I don't want it if you have to force yourself to try and feel it Harry! I won't let you make a mockery of the way I-REALLY-FEEL!" he finished the sentence yelling, wanting to give the Gryffindor a good kick. He took a deep breath. Tantrums were so very ungainly, even when justified. "I refuse to deal with you when you're drunk," he said as steadily as he could. "When you're sober and can fully appreciate what you're saying you may talk to me. Until that point leave me alone."

Harry watched as the shimmer of silver disappeared through the trees. Suddenly, he felt considerably more sober. He sat where he had landed, completely stunned. _Oh God…Oh God, Harry you idiot! You stupid, stupid, _stupid _idiot_! 

"Draco?" he called tentatively, a lump building in his throat. As he realised that there was to be no response, Harry gave a pitiful gurgle and burst into tears.

Sirius watched Remus as he moved around the kitchen making tea. Tea solved everything, of course – it didn't matter whether you were Wizard, Muggle, Werewolf or Hag, provided you were British, tea solved everything. _Going to need an industrial-sized cauldron full at this rate…_

"So, what have you done all alone for the past fourteen years, Moony?" he asked, trying to keep things light because he had a feeling they would darken later.

"Lots of things…"

"Well… what sorts of lots of things?"

"I read," he shrugged. "And we've been thorough this before."

"For fourteen years?" Sirius asked, ignoring his other comment entirely.

Remus gave a dark snort of laughter, "When I could focus."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing."

"If it meant nothing you wouldn't have said it, Moo. That's not that way you are."

"Sirius," Remus began, clearly holding his voice as steady as possible, "it was nearly fourteen years of misery. The first part, in particular, was very difficult. If I say something was nothing it means I am not ready to talk about it. It's nothing personal, it was just a very upsetting time, alright?"

"Yeah – yeah of course it is, Re…" Sirius squeezed his shoulder supportively, only to have the other man carefully duck out from his grasp and take both mugs into the living room. Remus seemed to hesitate, deciding where to sit; the armchair or the sofa? He finally gave a sigh and sat on the sofa. Sirius promptly sat beside him, although not too close. _Wouldn't want to frighten him away now, would I?_

"So," Remus said quietly, "you wanted to talk…"

"Yes, I did. I do. I'd like to know where we stand. Both of us," Sirius told him earnestly.

Remus said nothing.

"Moony?"

"Siri…" he paused to rub his brow, "I can't go back to how things were. Not immediately."

"But you'd like to? Eventually?"

The fair-haired man squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. "I thought I did. When I first heard you were coming here I just thought how wonderful it would be to have you back here with me. There has been such a lot of time wasted, Siri…I knew then that it would be hard work, but I wasn't expecting you to have completely forgotten about us… about me…"

"I didn't forget about you, Re! Those creatures took your memories in there – I didn't forget them, I pushed them down. I hid them! I didn't forget because I didn't care-"

"No, I know, that's not what I meant, Sirius. I know you didn't do it on purpose. But can you imagine, that fourteen years after you last had a chance to be with the person you have been in love with for twenty whole years and more, that you sit with them, expecting to have this very conversation, and realising that they do not realise there is any relationship to talk about? Realising that they now think of you the same way they thought of you when you were a clumsy thirteen year old? I couldn't tell you, it would have been too much to take after all the work you'd done for Dumbledore; all the effort you have put in to preventing history from repeating itself. You were in no fit state to be placed under even more emotional pressure and… I suppose I convinced myself that well that I eventually became afraid of you finding out. Perhaps I'd started to believe that if you found out you _would_ go off on one and you _would_ lose it altogether… and I was afraid of losing you again. It was so difficult the first time… even when I thought I should have been glad to be rid of you. I never quite managed it; never reached a point where I could even pretend I hated you. If you were to have escaped any time in the first ten years – and you really had been guilty – I would still have taken you back in an instant. And I hated myself for it."

Sirius gazed at the side of the other man's face. For once, possibly the first time since he learned to talk, Sirius Black did not know what to say. The main thing was that he had too many things he _wanted_ to say, things that were too important and too complicated and which he knew would sound stupid as they fell from his mouth. "I'm sorry…" he managed, eventually, "I wish I could have remembered… I wish those fucking Dementors hadn't tried to steal them. Fuck. Fuck, I wish they'd let me at Wormtail. I'd fucking strangle him!"

"What would that have achieved?"

"It would have made me feel better."

"It would have taken you back to that prison, Sirius!" 

Both men sat for a moment, not speaking. Finally, Sirius ventured, "I know this is a hard question, and I'm sorry, but I really fucking have to know or I'll go insane." He closed his eyes and clenched both fists on his knees, "I need to know – just a yes or a no – I need to know if you still love me."

Remus closed his eyes for a moment, feeling the stab of being asked a question that should never have needed to be answered. "Yes, I have loved you since the first time you ever kissed me," he admitted quietly, "and nothing is going to change that. Even fourteen years and some Dementors."

"Me either," Sirius said firmly, "even if I didn't fucking realise it." He reached out to push a lock of greying sandy hair from the other man's face as he stared into the bottom of his mug, "The Remus I knew wouldn't give up on something this easily, Moony… he would have fought for it in that frustratingly quiet but furiously determined way he used to have."

"The Moony you knew was destroyed the day I let a man that I knew, deep down, was innocent be taken to rot in Azkaban for killing the people he loved more that anyone."

"Don't be stupid, you'll always be my Moony! I mean, it's a wonder you're still here at all with no one to remind you to eat for twelve years…"

"I made myself survive," Remus murmured, "because I realised, one day, that I was the only one left to really carry on and that the Marauders were not supposed to end like that. The Marauders fought against anything that attempted to keep them down… So I carried on existing. I suppose I knew that it didn't end there, even if I wanted it to; there was more to come. Life hadn't finished with me quite yet…"

"I tried to think about you, at first. I tried to tell you I didn't kill them on purpose – that we had switched and it was Peter – but I suppose it only works over short distances…"

"You didn't kill them, Siri. I know that, James knows that, Lily knows that and Harry certainly knows that," Remus sighed tiredly, leaning back against the sofa and turning to look at the man beside him, his head at an awkward angle. 

"I wish I found it that easy to believe," Sirius murmured, swallowing. He paused before whispering, "I miss them, Moony. I miss having someone to talk to about you, someone to smack me around the head and call me a toss-pot then tell me to 'buck my stupid bloody ideas up'. I miss having someone to tell when you've done something funny or stupid or had one of your little eccentric moments…" Suddenly his eyes were watery and had begun to glaze over. Growing somewhat overcome himself, Remus twisted in his seat and folded the other dark haired man in a sympathetic embrace.

"I know, Siri," he soothed, feeling his voice grow unsteady, "I know…"

They clutched each other in a crushing hug for several moments, before Sirius drew away slightly and rested his forehead against Remus'.

"Remus… don't leave me alone again… please… I can't lose you as well."

Remus swallowed and closed his eyes for a moment, "I won't. I just need time."

"As long as you want!" Sirius agreed immediately, bringing a small smile to Remus's lips.

"You won't have that much patience, Siri."

"I waited five years for you…" he uttered and leaned in slightly, tentatively intending to press a tiny kiss to the mouth just centimetres from his. But at that moment the front door slammed with such force the window rattled and someone – obviously Harry – pounded up the stairs as if all the dragons of Romania were chasing him. In a split second Remus was on his feet and out of the room. He dashed up the stairs and knocked on Harry's door. There was no response, merely the distinct sound of someone sobbing loudly.

"Harry?"

The sobbing continued.

"Harry, I'm going to come in-" He slowly opened the bedroom door and found the teenager curled up on his bed, clutching his pillow to his chest and sobbing against it. "Harry, whatever's happened?" he asked, moving to sit beside him. Sirius was at the door, hovering awkwardly from foot to foot.

"H-h-he hates m-me!" he managed, before curling up tighter and sobbing even louder.

Wincing, Remus lifted his shoulders and shifted him into a position in which he could hug him. "Who hates you?" he asked softly, rocking him like a young child. "Have you fallen out with Ron?"

"N-no."

"Then who?"

"D-Draco!" Harry said as if the answer was obvious.

"Draco? Well, why? What on Earth has happened?"

Sirius was scowling, a look that concerned Remus deeply. _Don't you dare go anywhere, Sirius. Leave the kid alone._

"I t-t-tried to k-kiss h-h-him and he pushed me off and-"

"I thought you were seeing Gavin Cross…" Remus said in confusion.

"I w-was," Harry told him tearfully. "We s-saw him ki-s-ssing McKnight."

"Doing _what_?" Sirius demanded, sounding even more menacing than he had previously looked.

"Oh Harry," Remus sighed, squeezing him tightly as the teenager burrowed into his chest, "I'm sorry. Perhaps there was some mistake. Maybe it wasn't what it looked like. After all, I sincerely doubt that you are the only person to have consumed… _exceptionally_ potent and rather illegal liquids."

Harry gave struggled to stop crying, and failed. "But he h-hates me!"

"I'm sure he doesn't-"

"He said he doesn't w-w-want to speak to me…"

"You spoke to him after you saw him with this other boy?"

"No, I mean _Draco_! And it wasn't a b-boy, it was _Claudia_!"

"I'll tear his bloody-"

"You'll go downstairs and make tea, I think, actually," Remus told him firmly, the same threatening look in his eye that Lily used to use to control them all in their youth.

"What?"

"Tea, Padfoot. Now, please."

Sirius growled sulkily and stomped down the stairs.

"Alright, Harry," Remus began, much more softly, "what aren't you telling me?"

"W-what?"

"Well, you tried to kiss Draco Malfoy, apparently, and I think there must be some reason it means so much to you."

"I ups-ups-ups-s-set him."

Remus gave another small sigh, "Well, unfortunately, Harry, some people aren't interested in their own gender and-"

"He is!"

"I'm sorry?"

"H-he is. Interested. In m-m-me."

"Then why did he stop you?"

"'C-c-cause he says I don't r-really love him."

"Oh. Well, that does seem a little over-demanding of him at this stage-"

"N-no. He l-l-l-loves _me_ –"

Remus' eyes widened behind his glasses. "I beg your pardon?"

Harry gave a heavy sigh and wearily explained, "He loves me. He h-hates me, too – because I'm stupid and I hurt him all the time. But he listens. He lets me talk about G-Gavin for hours and hours and he's one of my best fr-fr-friends. And Gavin was horrible. And he kissed Claudia McKnight and Draco always s-said he wasn't good eno-no-nough for me. So I wanted to… to be nice to h-him. I want to like him b-back! I know he's not going to-" he gave a loud sniff and wiped his nose on his smoky sleeve "-h-hurt me."

Remus grimaced and looked at the ceiling. "Harry," he began, "you can't force yourself to-"

"I KNOW!" Harry almost yelled. "I know and I hate it! It's n-not _fair_!"

"Well, do you like him at all?" Remus asked tentatively.

"He's my friend!"

"It's perfectly natural to fall for your friends, Harry – even if it seems a little strange at the time."

"It's n-not the strangeness, it's the – the realn-ness. I owe it to him, Moony! And Draco wouldn't… he wouldn't go off with someone else. Draco l-loves me… and Gavin doesn't." He swallowed and scrubbed his sleeve across his face again. "I feel sick."

Half an hour later, Harry was safely passed out in his bed, having sworn Remus to secrecy. For some reason he didn't want Sirius to know about the Slytherin's feelings. Remus was beginning to grow a little concerned about Harry's reluctance to tell Sirius anything; after all, it was Sirius who was his godfather.

"He's going to feel like an elephant has done a tap dance on his face in the morning," Sirius muttered, shaking his head.

"Well," Remus sighed, collecting together their mugs and moving to the door, "at least he'll know for next time."

"Know what? Never to trust drinks someone else gives you, that too much alcohol makes you vom or to make sure he takes some anti-quease before he gets pissed?"

"The second one." He extinguished the light and backed out of the room, closing the door softly. "We had to learn the hard way, didn't we?"

Sirius looked shocked, "Moony! There is a sadistic streak in you that I never knew of!"

"The memory will return in time," the other man said with a small, knowing smile.

The dark-haired man stared after him as he placed their mugs on a small table on the landing and ducked into his bedroom. For several minutes he continued to stare at the closed door, wondering exactly what Remus had meant. He only gave up and returned to his own room after the other man had called through the door:

"Sirius?"

"Yeah?"

"I was teasing, go to bed."

Harry sat up suddenly in bed, his head was hurting like never before. It felt like his brain was on fire. _Ohhh… if this is was what alcohol does I'm never drinking again!_ He scrunched his eyes up against the pain and opened them again to his darkened bedroom. He felt like something was missing. There was something in his head, some memory, that was out of bounds, hidden from him, somehow. He stumbled out of bed and staggered to his bedroom door, opening it just as Remus flew out of his own room, tugging on his over-robes and proceeded to bang on Sirius's bedroom door urgently.

"Sirius! Sirius, it's me, wake up!" he hissed urgently.

There was an indecipherable protest from within, and a few moments later the door was flung open by a very dishevelled Sirius. "What?" he demanded, "Changed your mind already?" He appeared to notice Harry and quickly added, "If you've just woken me up because Prince Piss Head, here's feels pukey –"

"Sirius, shut up and get dressed, we've been summoned. We need to get to the school immediately."

Without a pause, Sirius turned and launched himself back into his bedroom.

"What's happening?" Harry asked, nervously.

"We need you to get dressed and come up to the school right now, Harry," Remus told him calmly. "Dumbledore will explain when we get there."

Ten minutes later, Harry was racing across the lawns towards the school. Many of the lights were on, blazing orange the a thousand staring eyes. The cold air of early morning stung his cheeks and his head was throbbing. It ached and burned like never before, like white-hot pokers were being pressed through his skull. Harry had a terrible feeling that there was more to it than just a hangover.


	10. Chapterc X Give Yourself Away

Chapter ~ X 

**Give Yourself Away**

"If I could be who you wanted all the time I would…"Radiohead 

****

****

Draco lay in his four-poster bed, gazing at his canopy in the darkness. He hadn't slept all night, too depressed and frustrated to do anything but feel sorry for himself. His immediate reaction after Harry had tried to kiss him had been annoyance. Draco couldn't stand drunken people. There were few things he despised more than childish stupidity, which alcohol provoked in torrents, and Harry had fallen rather foul to its evils. Emotional drunks were Draco's absolute pet peeve (and Harry was clearly a distinctly emotional drunk) but, after he had stormed up to his dorm and settled alone inside, he had begun to relive the few precious moments when Harry Potter needed _him_, and the annoyance had faded to hurt. He had thought they were friends. Draco would never have abused Harry's trust like that; he would never have let him down because he wanted to get back at someone. He had thought he could trust Harry, like Harry could trust him. He could still feel the Gryffindor's breath on his neck, his rough, chewed lips pressing against his skin.  He raised his hand, vaguely intending to brush his fingers over the tingling flesh, but caught himself and instead forced his fingers to tangle in his hair.

                _For God's sake Harry – why couldn't you just keep your stupid hands to yourself?_

                Draco was furious with himself for even _considering_ whether he should have allowed Harry to kiss him. He had more self-respect than that – no one was to abuse him in such a way – but still… what would it have been like? _Sloppy, awkward and intensely alcoholic…_ But all the same – it was _Harry_! What difference did it make? Harry had wanted to kiss him – wasn't that too good an opportunity to pass up?

                _No, because I am _not_ going to torture myself like that, and I am most certainly not Harry Potter's second choice!_

- _You'll probably never have that chance again. Perhaps you could have showed him exactly why it is you he needs…_

_Oh yes, of course! With my masses of experience that would have been perfectly easy…_

- _Spineless idiot! How difficult can it be?_

_I have no desire to find out in such a situation._

- _Precisely how else do you intend to find out, you imbecile?_

Draco couldn't answer that; even to himself. But he couldn't help hoping that maybe, now Harry knew what the ape-boy was really like, he might see that Draco would be far better for him. Draco would never two-time him like that. _He_ really loved Harry for what and who he was underneath that stupid scar – not just because he was the best and youngest seeker in over a century, or because he was the only person known to have fought Voldemort and come through alive. Maybe when he was younger he'd been drawn to Harry because of whom he was to the rest of the Wizarding world, but the more he found out about the quiet, skinny boy with the haunted eyes - which Draco sometimes thought looked like the sun shining through broken glass – the more he liked the side of him he knew very few people cared to look for.

                _Everyone wants him to be a 'hero' – no one gives a knut about what he's really like. Well, that stupid Neanderthal has dug his own grave, now. I didn't even need to hold Harry's eyes open to make him see the way that animal was slobbering over the carrot head. Maybe this is it. If being a Slytherin has its uses, it's when it involves turning a situation to one's advantage-_

Draco sat up so suddenly that he almost gave himself whiplash. The dorm was filled with flashing lights and the sound of a bell tolling deafeningly. Around him his roommates groaned and demanded to know what was going on. It took a moment for the noise and its identity to sink in – it was the school alarm.

                He flung back the covers and snatched his dressing robe from its hook, pinning on his prefect badge and stuffing his wand into his pocket as quickly as he could.    "Get up, get your robes on and get to the common room immediately," he ordered, "And don't forget your wands!"

                Draco whisked into action, joining the other prefects in rousing the other students and transporting them safely up to the Great Hall. The floating candles blazed in their hundreds, but the Hall seemed completely different to when the students lined the four house tables for meals. The Hufflepuffs were already assembled, huddled together and looking frightened in a corner. Ravenclaw followed the Slytherins, and Gryffindor, who had the furthest to travel across the castle, entered last – many of them clutching their wands as if ready for battle.

                Harry wasn't with them. Draco scanned the group of Gryffindors repeatedly, then reluctantly turned to the Ravenclaws, half afraid that Harry was with them. Cross was sitting huddled with Wood, whispering and constantly running his hands through his hair. The carrot-head sat with her own little gaggle and threw him glances every few moments, clutching her book bag as though it were a comfort blanket. Harry wasn't there and Draco felt a small knot of panic building in his stomach. _Where is he? Where the _hell_ is he? He surely found his way out of the forest…? He had to… We weren't a long way in…. _Draco's fingers tightened around the wand in his pocket. How dearly he'd like to hex them both into the infirmary for what they had done to Harry. If he was lost in the forest or something had happened to him…

                He was distracted by the commotion made as Harry finally did appear, escorted by his guardians. Granger and Weasley leapt up and hurried over to them as though expecting him to know exactly what was going on. From the way he shrugged and Lupin patted Weasley on the shoulder before he and Black hurried away, Draco felt sure that they knew nothing either. He didn't realise he was staring until Harry caught his eye. He seemed about to come over but remembered that they were surrounded by people just in time. Draco very pointedly looked directly at the Ravenclaws, glanced back at Harry, then turned his back completely. He immediately heard Granger's voice rise an octave as she babbled something urgently, but he couldn't make out what it was.

Harry stared at the back of the blond head, now purposefully turned away from him. It had all flooded back the instant their eyes had locked and he could feel his cheeks burning as badly as his head. He glanced at Gavin, leaning heavily on Simon Wood and looking utterly exhausted. Harry felt as though he'd swallowed a bludger. He could almost cry. It wasn't fair – why did Gavin have to pick on him to use like that? If he wasn't feeling so depressed he'd go over and hit him. Thanks to that stupid git he'd probably lost one of his best friends.

                "Harry? Harry are you alright?"

He turned his attention to Hermione as she gripped his arm almost tightly enough to bruise. "What?"

                "What's the bleeding matter with you? You're blanking out again!"

                "Harry, did something happen? Why are they bringing us here?"

                "How should I know?" Harry shrugged impatiently, "My scar's hurting so I'd say it was a pretty safe bet that Voldemort's up to his old tricks again…"

                Hermione gazed at him with abject horror; "Harry! How can you so blasé about this? People could be dead – could be being tortured – if Voldemort –"

                "Look, I have my own problems at the moment, not to mention a colossal headache and I really don't want to talk about it, alright?"

                "Problems? What problems? Harry, if this is because of – because of you new 'friend'…"

                "I don't think he really wants to be my friend any more," he replied quietly. "Happy now?"

                Neither Hermione nor Ron had time to respond, because at that moment Dumbledore appeared at the front of the room, flanked by the heads of the four houses, all looking rather sombre.

                "May I have your attention?" he began, no twinkle in his eyes at all. "I must ask you all to sit down where you are, for I have some rather bad news of which to inform you." Instantly, hundreds of black velvet cushions appeared and those who had not already been sitting down did so. Dumbledore continued, looking extremely grave, "Tonight, I am sorry to have to tell you, there were a number of attacks staged on areas of public and political significance by forces which have been identified as those of Lord Voldemort." Horrified gasps rang out across the room and Harry saw Sirius, standing to one side of the raised platform, bow to a suddenly ashen-faced Remus and whisper urgently. "Among these buildings are the department of Muggle Protection, the Department of Magical Technological Development, the Department of International Wizarding Relations," he paused and appeared to hesitate, deciding whether to add his next location, "and St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies."

                Many people cried out in anger, several Hufflepuffs and number of younger students began to sob and what appeared to be the majority of Slytherin faces suddenly seemed to blank of all emotion. There was a near-universal sense of rage, except for the corner in which the Slytherins sat, each looking thoroughly impassive, yet intensely and stoically alone. Harry glanced at Draco, who, like his housemates, gave no clue to his feelings. He realised, though, that the blond boy must be questioning his father's involvement; perhaps hoping that he had been caught and would be removed by the Aurors.

                "In a moment your heads of house will ask those of you who have been directly affected by the night's events to leave the hall and join them elsewhere. I ask you to do so with courage and compassion. We are as strong as we are united, that you all know; let these sad and trying times be our opportunity to display our strength."

                In silence the four teachers stepped down from the platform and began to approach their pupils. Professor Sprout was as distraught as her students and soon the small group left the Hall together, clinging to one another for support. A pale-faced Snape stopped before each of his own students, needing no gesture further than a slight nod before each one stood and strode towards the doors. Harry saw a tiny flicker on Draco's face as Snape followed. He thought it might be disappointment.

                Harry turned his attention to the Ravenclaws; Professor Flitwick seemed to be taking more time with his students. He moved from a third year and Harry found, to his malicious glee, that his sympathetic hand was placed upon the shoulder of Claudia McKnight. Disgusted with himself, Harry grimaced and turned to Hermione just as she buried her face in his shoulder, sobbing. He blinked and looked around for Ron. To his dismay he saw four familiar ginger figures being led from the room by Professor McGonagall.

                "Oh Harry!" Hermione sobbed into his pyjamas, "Poor Weasleys! What if – what if he's dead?"

                "Who? Who's hurt?" he demanded, his own horror creeping up his spine like a glacier.

                "Percy! They attacked his department, Harry, didn't you hear? Oh goodness, what if he dies? They can't lose another child! It would be dreadful!"

                "_Another_ child?" Harry echoed in confusion.

                "Yes! Yes, didn't you see the boy at the supper? That was _Archie_!"

                "Archie? Ron's never mentioned – "

                "No," Hermione sniffed, wiping her eyes on her sleeve, "they don't like to talk about it… Ron was only little when he died."

                Harry's head swam as he tried to take in this new information. Surely they would have known? How often had he stayed at the Burrow and yet never seen a single picture of the tall boy he'd seen at the ritual? "How?" he asked, uncomfortably.

                "He… he hanged himself, Harry – in the barn… Ron said he was a couple of years older than Percy. Wh-what if something really awful has happened, Harry? Oh the poor, poor Weasleys!"

                "I don't know," Harry murmured, starting to feel exhausted again, "I had no idea…"

 His head throbbed harder.

They returned to their houses shortly after, but it was nearly nine o'clock before those who had been taken from the hall returned. Harry had so far successfully avoided telling Hermione about the previous night's events. He couldn't face the prospect of her tirade on how stupid he had been to try and kiss the Slytherin; or worse, her _sympathy_. Finally, Ron staggered through the portrait hole looking extremely tired, but certainly not like someone who had just been bereaved. 

                "Ron? What happened? Is everything alright? Is _Percy_ alright?" Hermione asked as the other three also climbed through the doorway. Ron gave a weary sigh and flopped onto the nearest sofa.

                "They blew up his department," he shrugged. "Perce was working late – surprise, surprise – and he fell asleep at his desk…"

                "They reckon he slipped out of his chair –"

"- and that's what saved him," the twins elaborated.

"Serves him bloody right, if you ask me! I mean, who in their right mind works on New Year, anyway?"

"Apparently he's sitting in some part of St. Mungo's that didn't get blown up asking if his report got it on time…"

"As if anyone bloody cares!"

"But he's alright?" Hermione asked, sitting down beside Ron and pushing her hair out of her face tiredly.

"As he'll ever be," Ron said with a half-grin.

"Looks like we'll have to bump him off ourselves-"

"-that way we can claim Hermes!"

"Don't be horrible!" Ginny squealed, slapping George on the arm. "Poor Percy's in hospital! Don't joke about him dying!"

To Harry's surprise, the twins looked downcast and Fred muttered what may have been an apology. Everything felt so different. Some of their housemates had lost loved ones and sat in corners sobbing or nodding bravely at those who offered their condolences. The stoicism was suffocating. Why did they have to pretend it didn't matter? The whole world they knew was falling apart again and they were all trying to pretend that they could cope. But it was worse to see the usually happy, familiar faces downcast and pale. It made Harry feel sick with frustration. This wasn't right – it wasn't how things were meant to be. They were kids! They shouldn't have to deal with this. Even the twins weren't really making light of things they way they usually did. They could pretend for a short while, but even they couldn't keep up the act. Nothing was the same, now… Harry couldn't face staying in the room any longer, and he slipped out virtually unnoticed.

For a long time he wandered the corridors; they were deserted. Death seemed to be finding itself at home within the school. The overwhelming sense of sadness and loss radiated from the walls, which usually echoed with the chatter and laughter of the castle's inhabitants. Somewhere, familiar faces probably had far more in common with him that he would ever realise. Other students would have lost families. He may be the most famous orphan in the school but there was a strong possibility that he was no longer such a small minority.

Eventually, he found himself on the stone steps, gazing across the lawns to the cottage. The windows looked dark and no smoke issued from the chimney, so there was evidently no one at home. Hagrid's hut lay dormant, too; he supposed the staff were having an emergency meeting. He sat down on the steps, almost forgetting about the cold November weather, and rested his forehead on his arms. Why did all this have to happen now? He was sick of his personal life being overshadowed by the actions of a man that should have died years ago. He just wanted to be normal. His mind drifted back towards Draco; he wondered what he was doing. Across the lawns, he picked out the area where he and Draco had stood the previous night; it looked so inconspicuous in the light of day. What had possessed him to do something so stupid? _The drink mainly… _But it was more than that. He'd _wanted_ to feel the same for Draco; he'd wanted to reciprocate and give the other boy back some of the things he'd put into their friendship. But he had failed. All he had done was hurt and annoy him, which seemed to be the only thing he really was capable of._ Some friend I am…_

At that moment a hand ran across his shoulders and gently stroked his arm. "Draco?" Harry said, grasping at the hand just as he realised that the skin was certainly not pale enough, nor the fingers slender enough, to be the Slytherin's. He jerked to his feet and whirled around to find himself faced with the last person he wanted to see.

"_Draco_, 'Arry?" Gavin asked, an expression of hurt confusion on his face. "Since when did _Malfoy_ do _that_?"

"He… I just…" lost for words, Harry closed his mouth and turned away. "It's none of your business."

"What? O'course it's my business, 'Arry – I'm s'posed to be your _boyfriend_, for God's sake!"

"Really?" Harry demanded, turning back to him furiously, "Well, you were the one who seemed to need reminding of that last night, Gavin!"

The Welsh boy blanched, then deep red patches formed on his cheeks. "Wha're you talkin' abou'?"

"Don't bother denying it – I _saw you_ with my own _eyes_!" he yelled, fists clenched furiously.

"What'd'you see?"

"You actually want me to _say it_?" the Gryffindor cried incredulously, "Fine! If that's what you want – I saw you snogging that ginger girl from the Quidditch team. And so did Draco."

"What were you doin' wi' Draco Malfoy?"

"That's nothing to do with it! I saw you! Over there – by the trees. And for your information, I was nowhere near Draco at the time!"

"It weren' what it looked like…"

"So what was it? It didn't damn well look like CPR to me!"

"'Arry –" Cross began pleadingly, starting to reach out for him.

"I trusted you!" Harry bellowed back, pulling away roughly.

"'Arry, _she_ kissed _me_! She's liked me fer _ages_ but I don' like 'er back – not like that!" the other boy replied, the desperation in his voice sounding almost teary.

"Oh really? Well it didn't look like you were exactly fighting her off!"

"Look, I _told_ 'er I don' like 'er tha' way – 'Arry, why would I willin'ly do anythin' wi' 'er when 'm goin' out wi' you?"

"Funny, that's exactly what I wanted to know."

"'Arry, please don' ruin things over something this stupid…"

"Stupid? Gavin, you were kissing someone else! I am perfectly within my right to be pissed off!"

"But it wasn't-"

"-What it looked like… Yes, I think you might have mentioned that part." _Listen to yourself! You sound like Draco!_

"'Arry, I never did this t'urt you! I did it to be _kind_ t' someone else – there is a _big_ diff'rence!" The older boy's voice cracked as he appeared to reach the very verge of tears.

"Well, what about being kind to _me_?" Harry asked, slightly less harshly than he would have done. He really didn't want to make the older boy cry. He'd already had enough malicious thoughts against Ravenclaws that morning.

                "I'll make it up to you!" the Welsh boy said immediately. "Whatever I can do t' make it up t' you I'll do it. I promise."

                "What makes you think you _can_ make it up to me?" Harry asked. "Do you have any _idea_ how I felt standing there, watching you – watching you… with _her_!"

                "Pro'bly a bit like I feel knowin' you spend 'alf your time wi' someone we both know reckons 'e's in love wi' you."

                "Leave Draco out of it, Gavin." _Not that you exactly managed to, Potter…_

                "'Arry, don' you think I' got feelin's too? Don' you think tha' maybe I wonder why you spen' so much time wi' him? I made a stupid, _stupid_ mistake an' I know it. But it's gotta work both ways…"

                "This is not about Draco! If it was about him do you think I would be so hurt because of this?"

                "'Arry, _please_…!"

                "Don't compare what you did to my friendship with Draco – _don't_."

                "God, 'Arry – I'm sorry, I' told you I'm sorry, will you please jus' lemme make it up t' you?"

                "Gavin, it's not _about_ making it up to me… It's about being able to _trust_ you."

                "I'll gi' you my word, that's all I can do. Please b'lieve me, 'Arry – 'll never let anything like this 'appen again. Never." He tentatively reached out and pulled him closer and Harry thought of the night before, when Draco had been struggling to help him stay on his feet. "I know things are goin' t' be really tough, now, an' I wan' t' be there fer you. If you jus' gimme another chance – if it kills me I'll be there fer you. Please let me…"

                "Haven't you learned, yet? Being around me _does_ kill people. I'm more effective than any cursed necklace. Maybe you should just think of this as a good excuse to get out of the firing line before it's too late…"

                "No."

                Harry looked at him curiously. The older boy's face was set in an expression of fierce determination, but his eyes looked… _Frightened?_

                "Gavin…"

                "Simon's dad was 'urt, 'Arry…"

                "What?"

                "'E works at th'ospital. Psychiatric ward. They don' know if there's anythin' they can do – even wi' magic. Now tha' we're under attack from _them_ I'm afr –" he hesitated and closed his eyes for a moment, "Jus' please don' take this away from me _now_…"

                Harry studied him for a minute. He looked genuinely scared; genuinely afraid of losing the people he cared about, just like so many of their schoolmates had. It was beginning to seem a little foolish to dismiss one of the few people who did care for him when so many of their friends were _losing_ people they cared about. 

                "'Arry I _need_ you…"

                "No, you don't…"

                "I _do_! Please, jus' gimme one more try…" the older boy begged, squeezing both of Harry's hands so tightly it started to hurt a little. "_Please_…"

_Draco'll hate you for this…_ Harry thought, looking down at their linked hands, _If he doesn't already… _Distantly, he heard Hermione's voice echoing back what she had said in the common room, about not giving up on his life for Draco's benefit. Taking a small sigh, Harry gave in and wrapped his arms around Gavin.

~*~

"I'll do it."

                Everyone in the room glanced up at the pale, worn-out figure that had spoken. An instant and near-unanimous chorus of  "Don't be ridiculous, Remus!" was thrown back at him.

                "You are not – fucking _not_ – putting yourself at that much risk. No fucking way!"

                "Sirius Black! You will watch your language!"

                "I'm not fucking fifteen any more, Min – can't take any points from me, you know, and I'm _not_ having him go out and get himself fucking killed for-"

                "Sirius, I have to do my share-"

                "Remus," the headmaster broke in gently, but with a firmness no one could reasonably hope to shake, "you will do your share, as you always have done; however, Sirius is indeed absolutely right. You cannot be allowed to take on a task such as this."

                "Besides," McGonagall added, her tone slightly softened as she addressed him, "we need you here. The students will need you here-"

                "'Specially young Harry," Hagrid said, pulling a huge, spotted handkerchief from his pocket. "Already lost one set o'folks, ain't 'e?"

                "And you're one of the best strategists we have," Copia Vector added, nodding.

                "Only because James isn't here," Remus sighed, shaking his head. "Really, who else is there? I have the perfect reason to join them - _am _the perfect reason to-"

                "Bollocks!"

                "Sirius-"

                "Yes, Black," Snape sneered from across the table, "keep your House Elf under control without swamping us with expletives, if you please."

                "What did you just fucking call him, Batfink?" Sirius growled, standing up and leaning over the table as though he wanted to grab the other man and slam his head into the wooden surface.

                "Siri, please!"

                "Sit down, Black, or Lupin may be forced to abuse his rolling pin."

                Sirius had virtually sprung over the table and grabbed handfuls of the other man's robes before anyone else had time to get to their feet. "What's that fucking supposed to mean, you slimy little shit?"

                Snape just had time to sneer triumphantly before Dumbledore boomed "Gentlemen!" a dangerous look in his eyes. "I will not tolerate such behaviour from my students, much less my staff! You will sit down and continue this meeting like respectable adults."

                Sirius and Snape took their places in silence, both scowling menacingly. Remus slid down in his seat and half-covered his face with his hand, thoroughly humiliated.

                "Remus, not only are you an excellent strategist, a superb mediator and trusted counsellor to any that meet you -"

"Not teh mention th' best Linguisty-thingy we' got…"

                "-but an accomplished professor in the very subject which will be of the utmost importance to us; Defence Against the Dark Arts."

                "Hang on, hang on – are you giving Moony my job?" Sirius demanded, looking and sounding deeply affronted.

                "I wouldn't want to take Sirius' job from him, Albus, you know that-"

                "Of course not, Remus; Sirius will, if necessary, be moved on to Muggle Studies to-"

                "MUGGLE STUDIES?"

                "Yes, Sirius, Muggle Studies. As my memory serves, the Muggle lifestyle was something you always took great pride in your understanding of."

                "Yeah, fifteen years ago! _Pop culture!_ Not bloody politics or any sort of practical stuff!"

                "I seem to remember a rather large and finely tuned flying motorcycle," McGonagall said primly, raising an eyebrow at him.

                "How many Muggles do you know with flying fucking motorbikes?" Sirius cried incredulously. 

                "Approximately as many as I do wizards with those black vinyl discs which are used to create music."

                "Records. They're _called_ records. And I haven't got any – "

                "Yes, you have," Remus corrected quietly without looking up.

                "_No,_" Sirius argued, "I left them all at your flat when I was thrown in Az-" He stopped suddenly and stared at the man beside him, "Wait – did you _keep them_?"

                Remus felt himself blushing slightly, "They're in the attic," he admitted.

                "Re, that's fucking brilliant! I can't believe you kept them! Have you still got my Cult album?"

                Remus nodded, glancing around awkwardly.

                "And Joy Division – what about them? Did they ever really get anywhere? So much promise, that band…"

                "I believe the singer-"

"Ah, yeah – good old Ian Curtis. Fantastic musician… I worshipped him, you know…"

Remus gave an uncomfortable grimace, not sure how Sirius would react to finding out the chap was dead. He finally settled for, "Shall we talk about this later?" 

                "Yeah, yeah, definitely!" Sirius said enthusiastically, thumping the table, "What were we talking about? Oh. Yeah, fucking Muggle Studies…"

                "Sirius, I am sure our students will find the mechanics of the late seventies a considerably more escapist take on the subject than the finer points of re-wiring a plug. Which I am sure we all agree would be a great benefit to them at this time."

                Sirius gave an indistinct grumble, but it had to be said that the old man was right. "If _he_ hadn't fucked up we wouldn't be having this conversation though, would we?" he complained, casting Snape a dark look. "Maybe if he'd told us what the fuck was going on a bit earlier – "

                "If you know what is good for you, _Black_, you will not involve yourself in what you do not understand," the Potions master hissed through gritted teeth.

                "What are you going to do, poison me?"

                "Don't tempt me."

                "Oh, do put a sock in it, the pair of you!" Professor Sprout sighed impatiently. "We have much more to deal with than your petty bickering."

                "Well, like I said, if Batfink here had told us about the fucking attack _before_ it happened-"

                "DON'T YOU THINK I WOULD HAVE DONE?" Snape bellowed suddenly, jumping to his feet. "Don't you think that I knew my duty? I knew nothing of these plans, you fool! Do you fail to see that this means they are aware of my allegiance to this school?"

                "So basically you're saying you didn't cover yourself very well, aren't you?" Sirius replied, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms.

                Snape glowered at him, apparently on the verge of making a retort, but instead he turned on his heel and left the room, slamming the door behind him.

Later, they left the castle via the courtyard, taking the route that led them past the north side of the Quidditch pitch. They walked in silence, a palpable tension between them. Remus was not an easy person to rile; in fact, he was infuriatingly passive at times, but when he did get annoyed his ability to keep calm was rather scary. Sirius tried his best to keep his mouth shut most of the way back to the cottage, but finally the tension was too unbearable and exploded, "WHAT?"

                "What?" Remus echoed, his voice distinctly strained.

                "What's the matter?"

                "Nothing, aside from the fact that I feel more humiliated than I have done since-"

                "HUMILIATED? What the fuck for? I got him back for you, didn't I?" Sirius demanded.

                "Yes, and that is precisely my point."

                "Re, I was just looking after you-"

                "I don't need you to look after me, Siri! Don't you realise that he was _trying _to get a rise out of you?"

                "But I _want_ to look after you…"

                "I am not your little woman, Padfoot," Remus told him impatiently. "If that's what you're looking for there's certainly no chance of things between us ever bearing any semblance to what they were."

                "THAT _IS _HOW THEY WERE! I was always protecting you! Malphas, Snape, the fucking board of governors at the Academy…"

                "And I hated it, Siri! I told you time after time that I could fight my own battles and you never listened. You never gave me the opportunity to learn to be self-dependant and then you weren't there to do it and I had to learn very quickly and all by myself. I'm not giving up my independence just so you can get one over on Severus."

                "What do you take me for? I'm not fucking doing this to get one over on Snivellus! I'm doing this because the bastard was being a total fucking dickhead and I couldn't just sit there and listen to it!"

                "You _started it_, Siri!"

                "Are you being like this because you didn't get the mission?" the taller man demanded suddenly. "Because this isn't like you, Moony. You'd usually just-"

                "Say nothing and accept the fate other people choose for me?"

                "Moony they're _right_ – we need you here! You wouldn't last five minutes out there anyway! Everyone knows how loyal you are to Dumbledore – to the kids – to everything this fucking place stands for!"

                "I don't want to be the one left behind again, Padfoot-"

                "What, so you want to go and get yourself killed so you aren't? That's very fucking considerate, Re, thanks."

                "No, that's not what I meant…"

                "So what then? Because I don't see why the morning after you and I start sorting shit out between us you're suddenly desperate to fuck off again!"

                "Padfoot, it's nothing to do with that…" Remus sighed, rubbing his eyes tiredly.

                "Then what is it?" 

                "Do you have any idea how I felt back then? I watched everyone around us putting themselves at risk to do things for the Order and what was my job? Researcher. I was probably the person who owed most to Dumbledore and everyone else who had made an effort to accept me and yet I was the one sitting in a nice, safe library _reading_. The only risk I came into contact with was my biscuit breaking off in my tea! I felt like a fraud."

                "That's ridiculous, Moony! It was never about how much risk you took, it was about your loyalty to the Order!"

                Remus gave a small, sardonic smile, "A little ironic, really, considering the fact that you thought _I_ was the spy."

                "What was I supposed to think? You started acting so strangely, Re! Refusing to see me, being secretive and distant – it wasn't like you, not when it came to _us_, and I just assumed that after – after we found you – you were under Imperius or something! Do you have any idea how much that ate at me? How hard it was to just let you distance yourself like that and try and convince myself that it was for the best?"

                "I know, Padfoot, but I _had_ to do that for that very reason. I got off so lightly and it didn't make sense – I assumed that they had done something to me which I didn't-"

                "LIGHTLY? HOW CAN YOU FUCKING SAY THAT? THEY _TORTURED YOU_!" Sirius yelled, grasping him by the shoulders and coming very close to shaking him.

                "Florry was dead, Sirius, do you remember? James and Lily were being hounded out of home after home and all they knew was that Voldemort wanted to take their baby from them. Your own _brother _was missing – I was still alive – that seemed far more generous than anyone would have expected from Death Eaters, wouldn't you say?"

                "Maybe _you've_ forgotten the state you were in when they dumped you on our doorstep, Remus, but I didn't. It's one of the few things I've always remembered far too clearly. Burns, welts – blisters all over you – you couldn't even _speak_ for two days! You were in _such_ a state and it was all my fucking fault!"

                "No, Siri, don't start thinking that-"

                "But it's true – if I had just fucking been on time they might never have got to you-"

                "You had no idea that was going to happen and you can't keep taking the blame for what happened to other people. It was me who arranged to meet you there, wasn't it? It was _me_ that wanted to take the risk-"

                "I should have been there for you!" Sirius insisted, clenching his fists in frustration and looking as though he desperately needed something to take his temper out on.

                "When will you learn that you cannot protect everyone all of the time? You were _not_ responsible then and you are not responsible for me now. I don't _need you, _Sirius, and you've got to learn to accept that you can't control everything around you; especially not things that happened in the past."

                "Right. If that's the fucking way you feel I'll get out from under your feet, shall I? I'll go and start packing."

                "Don't be such an idiot! You know that isn't what I'm trying to say."

                "You don't need me, Moony, you just fucking said so. So I'll get out of your way."

                "Siri…" Remus groaned as the other man stomped away towards the cottage, "Siri, don't start throwing tantrums…" Sirius ignored him. Remus gave a defeated sigh and shook his head; this was _not_ what he had intended to instigate. Wearily, he trudged across the lawns after the other man, feeling extremely mean and rather ashamed. Sirius had all the tact of a charging rhinoceros – he could pay a compliment and make it sound like a mortal insult – but Remus was far from used to upsetting people and he felt terribly guilty.

                When he reached the back door he found it already open, and was met with the sounds of drawers being slammed shut upstairs. Apprehensively he headed for Sirius's bedroom. Sure enough, there he was, tossing various possessions onto the bed and completely missing the bag they were intended for.

                "There's no need for this, Sirius," he said quietly, leaning against the doorframe.

                "You said you don't need me, you don't want me protecting you… well, here you go. The less time we fucking spend together the less I can do it, right?" Sirius replied sulkily.

                "Look, Padfoot, I don't want you to go storming off to stay in the castle at the first sign of a disagreement-"

                "Well, if I go and stay up there permanently I can only do it the once."

                "Oh for pity's sake, Sirius! Will you please grow up? You're too old for throwing tantrums, now."

                "If you have nothing good to say don't say anything."

                "I'm trying to say sorry. I phrased that poorly…"

                "Too right you fucking did."

                "Siri-"

                "Leave me alone, I want to get this finished."

                Remus gave a sigh and rubbed his eyes as Sirius very deliberately turned his back on him to pack the bag properly. Well, it seemed he had no other choice. He'd have to use the only kind of apology Sirius accepted. Slowly, almost reluctantly, he made his way across the room and grasped at the other man's arm, tugging him around to face him. _I swear you're doing this on purpose…_ he thought as he reached up and took the other man's face in his hands, then leaned up and planted a lingering, but rather chaste kiss on his lips. He thought he felt them curve into a grin and for a fleeting moment it was as though time had turned back; it was 1981 again and he'd just said that the Hastings Harriers' star player looked like an over-sized Christmas pudding perched on a tooth pick. Only it was 1995 and things were very different; he pulled back and looked at the face of a young man he had once known, and hoped to know again.

                _You know me too well…_

_                I know you're a manipulative git, at times._

_                But you always fall for it._

_                Anything for a quiet life, Siri…_

"Anything?" Sirius asked hopefully, pulling the fair-haired man back towards him sharply.

                "Not that."

                "But-"

                "Didn't your parents ever tell you to be happy with what you had?"

                "I don't think they were quite thinking about this sort of thing when I was eight, Moo…"

                "Well, no, I should hope not," Remus said with a slight grimace, "but none the less…"

                "How could I _possibly_ have forgotten what a tease you bloody are?" the other man said sulkily, folding his arms.

                Remus gave him slightly wicked grin and muttered, "Selective memory."

~*~

It didn't take Harry long to find Draco; there were only two likely places for him to be, and he just happened to be in the first place that he looked – the secured room Dumbledore had assigned to them. The Slytherin was sitting at the table with his back to him, his head bowed, but as Harry walked in he demanded, "What are you doing here?" without even turning around.

                "I was looking for you," Harry told him, carefully moving closer and feeling as though he were treading a minefield.

                "Well, congratulations, you've found me. Now what do you want?"

                "I think we need to talk about… well, about _things_, don't you?" he ventured awkwardly.

                "About? Ohhh – about last night when you decided to abuse me in order to score points over the Neanderthal! Is that what you meant?" Draco asked with mock-curiosity.

                "Drac, look, I wanted to say sorry – I really didn't mean for all that to happen," Harry told him truthfully. "I wasn't abusing you, either – not on purpose…"

                "So you _accidentally_ told me you love me and you _accidentally_ tried to kiss me, did you? You seem very accident prone all of a sudden."

                "Draco, don't be like that," Harry sighed, "you know that's not what happened."

                "No, you're quite right – everything you did you did deliberately, drunk out of your tiny Gryffindor brain or otherwise."

                "Look, Drac-"

                "Drac-_o_."

                "Oh will you just stop being so sodding _pernickety_?"

                "No."

                "I'm trying to _apologise _for my behaviour, Draco! I know I acted like a prat and I'm sorry. Can't you at least _try_ to be gracious about it?"

                "Why should I be gracious about it? If you learned to think about the consequences of your actions before you rushed in like a bull in an apothecary's and stopped acting like a prat in the first place maybe you wouldn't need to apologise quite so often."

                Harry slumped down into the nearest chair and took a very deep breath. _What else were you expecting, a welcome party and a trophy for being the biggest bastard in the school?_

"Draco, just listen to me," he sighed, reaching out and placing a hand on the other boy's shoulder. "I care about you a lot and I never meant to upset you."

                "Well you have."

                "Then I'm _sorry_," Harry insisted, his thumb rubbing the area soothingly.

                "At least you know what the Ravenclaw dolt is like, now. And I was right, wasn't I? He never liked you in the first place."

                Harry looked up sharply, "For your information, Draco, he did – and he still does."

                "Oh, stop deluding yourself! He was all over her, Harry! And just in case you failed to notice yourself, it-was-a-_girl._"

                "I know," Harry replied, struggling to keep calm, "and he has explained everything."

                "Oh really?" the other boy snorted, "And I suppose that made it all okay, so you gave him a nice big kiss and made up."

                "More or less," Harry replied stiffly.

                Draco stared at him for a moment, a look of a furious incredulity on his face, "Are you telling me that you have decided to get back together with him?"

                "We never split up, actually."

                The Slytherin gave him a look of sheer disgust and stood up abruptly. In seconds an over-stuffed armchair was a smouldering heap.

                _Oh great, _Harry thought irritably_, here we go again…_

                "I don't think I can be your friend anymore," the Slytherin said expressionlessly.

                "What?"

                "I said I don't think I can be your friend anymore."

                "Why? Look, Draco-"

                "Friends do not do this sort of thing to each other."

                "Do what? Go out with other people? For God's sake, Draco, you don't own me!"

                "Clearly."

                "This isn't _fair_!"

                "Which part? The part where I decide to remove myself from a situation which is not conducive to happiness on my part or the part where you _ensure_ a lack of happiness on my part?"

                "The part where you try to make me choose between you! _That_ part!"

                "I am not trying to make you choose anything, I merely refuse to jeopardise my sanity any further by playing a pawn in your pathetic little power game with Cross-"

                "POWER GAME? What do you think I am, a bloody Slytherin?" Harry bellowed. "I've tried to tell you time after time that I did what I thought was a good thing! I was drunk, yeah, so my idea of what constituted a good thing might have been a bit off-centre, but I was doing what I thought would make you _happy_! I wish I did feel like that – I genuinely, honestly do – but I just… I don't know any more. I don't _know_… I want to make you happy but I don't… I _like_ you – a lot – but I'm with Gavin and I like him, too, and…"

                "You had the opportunity to find out, Harry, and you chose him."

                "It couldn't work between us, could it? Even if I _did_ feel…like… like _that_."

                "Who are you trying to convince, me or yourself?"

                "Oh forget it…"

                "How can I?" the blond boy asked, almost helplessly. "It's staring me in the face _all the time._ How can you expect me to watch you do this knowing that I feel the way I do? Time and again he proves that he is not worthy of you and you expect _me_ to pick you up and dust you down, without ever thinking about how it might affect me!"

                "I _do_ think! I did what I did because I thought that's what you _wanted_!"

                "Then you are even stupider than I thought! I have a sense of self-preservation, even if you don't, and cannot continue to watch you do this and allow you to keep on wearing me down and making me think – " he stopped and looked away from him, a small pulse in his jaw as he clenched his teeth, "Making me think I had any reason to hope that you'll ever realise what it is that you could have if you asked for it."

                "If _you_ cared how I feel you wouldn't behave like this!" Harry replied, realising how pathetic he must sound just a fraction too late.

                "I'm a Slytherin, Harry, we only care about number one," Draco reminded him sarcastically before giving him a long, contemplative stare and adding, "I think the Sorting Hat was right, you would have fitted in perfectly in our House."

                Harry stared at him in silence for a moment, then strode from the room without another word, leaving the Slytherin to sink into the nearest chair, murmuring, "So much for happy birthday…"

Harry trudged into the Gryffindor common room miserably, paying little attention to what else was going on. After the morning he'd had the last thing he needed was to sit and stagnate in the pooled suffering of the rest of his House. He made his way up the winding stone staircase to the fifth year dorm, feeling like someone had transfigured his legs to lead. What had he done? What was he thinking when he said those things to Draco? He hadn't meant to, but they just seemed to come pouring out. He'd made it sound like he really had chosen Gavin over the Slytherin and he really hadn't – they weren't the same and he didn't have to choose between them because he liked them differently. So why had it ended up sounding so… _So wrong?_

He opened the dormitory door and was jerked from his thoughts by the sight of Hermione and Ron lying slumped against the ginger boy's pillows, his arm wrapped loosely around her shoulders.

                "Oh…" he managed, vaguely, "I'll just… er… sorry…"

                "Harry? Are you alright?" Hermione asked, sitting up. "You look a little bit distracted."

                "I'm alright, I s'pose…Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt…" He made to back out of the room, but was halted when she called after him:

                "Harry, wait! You aren't interrupting anything."

                From the look on Ron's face, he didn't quite agree, but he nodded and said, "Yeah, come here. You look like someone's broom-napped your Firebolt or something."

 Harry wandered forlornly over to Ron's bed and perched on the end. "Everything's going wrong again," he declared.

Hermione gave him a pitying look and crawled nearer. "Oh Harry," she sighed, "We all knew he would be back, didn't we? It was only a matter of time."

"Yeah, and don't worry about Perfect Prefect Percy, he's alright," Ron added. "Worst luck."

"And Mr and Mrs Longbottom really weren't going to get any better. It's dreadfully sad for Neville, of course, but there was nothing you could have done and you can't expect to be able to stop everything Voldemort does."

"I wish you'd _stop_ using that word, you two! Especially now!" Ron complained, moving down to sit on Harry's other side.

"I'm not talking about him."

The other two looked at each other in surprise. "Then what on Earth _are_ you talking about, Harry?"

"D'you remember this morning when I told you Draco and I weren't friends any more?"

"You what?" Ron asked in amazement, "You're going to stop hanging around with Malfoy at last? Wicked!"

"Actually, it's more like he's going to stop hanging around with me, Ron."

"Why?"

"Because I'm a stupid prat."

"Well yeah, I reckon you were to start hanging around with him in the first place."

"Oh Ron, shut up! You're starting to sound like a stuck record!"

"Like a what?"

"Never mind." 

"So what's happened? And why are you so sodding miserable again?"

"Because…" Harry stopped and took a deep breath; this was probably going to go down like a lead balloon, "Because last night I saw Gavin… er… I saw him kissing someone and I got a bit upset and so I let Seamus and Dean give me this stuff they had and I got a bit… drunk… and then I saw Draco-"

"Woah, woah, WOAH!" Ron interrupted, his face like thunder, "You saw Gavin doing _what_?"

Harry blushed and quietly admitted, "Kissing someone. Someone else."

"Oh right, 'cause I was expecting it to be the _other_ you that's wandering around the school, you big poncey idiot," Ron tutted. "So, I mean – you've dumped him, right?"

Harry stared at his hands.

"Harry?" Hermione prompted suspiciously, "Have you dumped him?"

Harry shook his head. "No… He explained everything and it wasn't what it looked like, honestly…"

"So what the bloody hell _was_ he doing and how come you're stupid enough to forgive him, eh?" Ron demanded, "That's a shitty thing to do!"

                "No, Ron-"

                "But Harry, how could you trust him after something like that? It's completely unacceptable."

                "It wasn't like that, Herm, he didn't start it – she did – and then –"

                "SHE?"

                "Er… yeah, it was one of the girls from the team…"

                "You've got to be bloody joking!"

                "Um… no."

                Ron gave an angry growl and muttered, "And to think of all the help we gave them! Bloody scumbag! It's a good job we only let him come to the one practise, Harry…"

                Harry decided it was best not to argue with that, but instead explained, "He knows it wasn't the right thing to do and he has apologised, y'know? He thought he was being kind to her by not being rude about it. He says she's liked him for ages, but he doesn't like her back…"

                "Personally, Harry, I think you're positively mad to trust him again. I know I wouldn't." She cast Ron a meaningful look and he cowered slightly, looking rather afraid. "But I don't understand how this is a problem for your… friendship… with Draco Malfoy."

                Harry grimaced and quietly said, "Because he saw what happened too, and he came and found me and I was really drunk and I sort of… um…"

                "You sort of what?"

                "I sort of told him that I… that I… I want to like him back and I think I told him that I love him or something-"

                "YOU SAID WHAT?" Hermione demanded at a near-screech, causing Ron to topple from the bed in alarm.

                "I… well, I said I loved him and I think I tried to kiss him… But it was because I was drunk and I was just trying to be nice to him-"

                "Nice? Is lying to the boy about something like that _nice_ in your opinion, Harry?"

                "I wasn't lying!" Harry protested, "It's only lying if you _deliberately_ tell someone something you know isn't true!"

                "And it's true that you love Draco Malfoy?"

                "No-"

                "Well, for God's sake Harry how can you expect us to know what you're on about when even you don't your-bloody-self?"

                "I don't – I – "

                "I almost feel sorry for Malfoy, you know – being lumbered with a great prat like you."

                "It's not my fault! I don't know what's going on any more! I wish I'd never spoken to Gavin and that Draco and I still hated each other!" 

                Hermione gave an impatient sigh and told him not to be so defeatist. "One minute you're wishing you were in love with Malfoy and the next that you still hated him! It's preposterous, Harry. You really ought to sit down and have a long think about how you feel because it isn't fair on Malfoy." 

Ron gave her an astonished look. 

"Well, it's not!" she told him, "I don't like the boy one bit but that's no reason to make him suffer, is it?"

Ron made an indistinct grumble.

So, that night, Harry thought. Again. Only, this time there was a whole new angle on the matter. He tried and tried to think of Draco in a romantic light – and the theory was becoming slightly less weird and disturbing – but every time he did so Gavin's face would pop up and he would be stumped again, his concentration being rather taken with large brown eyes and an infectious chuckle that wouldn't seem to leave his mind. The Slytherin wasn't unattractive, either, but Harry had never really thought much of blonds; never thought much _about_ them… Particularly about the sort of Ice Prince variety that Draco very definitely was. They'd always struck him as rather… sexless. Dull and not remotely tactile, which was something he liked very much about Gavin. It was perfectly okay to hold Gavin's hand or give him a quick kiss when no one was looking, but with Draco Harry really didn't think he could feel comfortable doing things like that – which took all the fun out of things as far as he was concerned.

And yet, there was an intimacy between him and Draco that he knew he didn't share with Gavin, but then, he and Draco had been through some considerably difficult times over the past couple of months. _Maybe if Gavin was going to be murdered I'd be a bit closer to him, too…_ he thought cynically.

He tried to think of Draco in a more physical light – and failed dismally. It was all pointy elbows and cold skin; Draco always felt like he was recovering from Hypothermia. Gavin didn't; he felt pleasantly warm all the time. _Like a normal person._ And Gavin definitely was normal. Very normal. He was popular, he fitted in and a he didn't look like he'd snap if you hugged him. And yet, he wasn't arrogant or cocksure – in fact, he and Draco were complete polar opposites. Gavin gave him weird fluttery feelings; Draco gave him more stress that he really needed during an exam year.

                _But I know Draco wouldn't hurt me. I know that. And Gavin…He didn't do that on purpose, did he? McKnight jumped on him. And he won't do it again. I know he won't because he was so worried about it when he thought I was going to dump him. He looked so scared… I can't believe I mean that much to him. I couldn't go back on my word now… I did promise that I'd forgiven him, after all – it'd be cruel to change my mind now! But this is the_ last_ chance. If he does anything wrong again me and him are finished for good. For definite, this time…_

The next morning classes started again. Harry made his way down to breakfast surrounded by a sense of valiant optimism through grief. Nothing seemed quite so dreadful in the light of a bright November morning; Voldemort had been defeated before – surely he could be defeated again? And with Dumbledore around they were in the safest place in the world, surely? Harry didn't feel quite so buoyant. It hadn't registered until that morning, when he rose to find Neville's bed hadn't been slept in, that his parents had been in the psychiatric ward at St. Mungo's. He had been sent home to be with his grandmother and prepare for the funeral. Seamus and Dean were in the hospital wing, having practically poisoned themselves with their carefully modified mulled wine. He wondered how much they must have drunk to require medical treatment.

                He had barely finished his single slice of toast when he felt a pair of hands clamp onto his shoulders and looked up to see who was standing over him, having learned his lesson well.

                "'Lo," Gavin said with a forced smile.

                "You alright?" Harry asked in concern, almost reaching up and covering the hand on his left shoulder with his own, but catching himself in time.

                "C'n I 'ave a word?"

                "Of course, what's wrong?"

                "In private?"

                "Oh. Oh… okay." He leaned down and picked up his bag. "I'll see you in Potions," he told the others, who both gave the Welsh boy dark looks and nodded at Harry with rather obvious disapproval.

                "They're angry wi' me, aren' they?" Gavin asked at they passed through the hall doors, looking rather concerned and even more miserable.

                "They're alright," Harry reassured him, "they're just a bit… protective of me, sometimes. They think I can't look after myself unless a situation involves Quidditch, dragons or Voldemort."

                The Ravenclaw managed a weak smile back.

                "Gavin, what's wrong? You seem really down…" Harry asked again, squeezing his hand.

                Squeezing back, Gavin led him towards a dull wooden door and led him into the store cupboard beyond. "Simon's dad died in the night," he mumbled once the door was closed firmly behind them.

                "Oh – God, I'm sorry…" Harry gushed immediately giving him a tight hug. "How's Simon? Is he alright? What happened?"

                "Simon's bein' sent 'ome," the Welsh boy told him, holding onto him as if he was cuddling a fluffy toy for comfort. "I dunno what 'appened, really, but I'm frightened, 'Arry – who's next? Y' never think stuff like this is goin' t'appen t' _you_.T' people you know, an'… I'm glad I still got you an' you're 'ere 'cause I don' think anythin' c'n get us 'ere, an' if anythin' appens outside… t'my family… well, at least I' still got you, see?"

                Harry cringed slightly thinking how he had been considering splitting up with him. _I'm so glad I decided not to… He came to me, didn't he? How the hell did I ever think like that…?_

Draco stood outside the Potions classroom carefully eavesdropping on the conversation between the two thirds of the Trinity he wasn't in the mood to throttle for a change. He'd seen what happened at breakfast, the Neanderthal demanding Harry leave the room with him and Harry following along like a pathetic little puppy. He actually gave a tiny gurgle of a growl and was glad for the fact that the rest of the class were making enough noise to drown it out.

                "But if he's late-"

                "Oh what does it matter anyway, 'Mione? He'll lose some points – big-bloody-deal. It's not like he listens to us, anyway, is it?"

                "But Ron, did you see the look on _his_ face? Don't you think it looked a little bit grim? A little bit like he had some bad news to tell? What if… what if Harry decided not to … do anything about what happened and now you-know-who has and Harry's upset?" Granger gushed irritatingly fretfully.

                _Put the cotton wool away, wench. If he can dish it out he can take it._

At that moment, Snape swept into the room and snapped, "In. Now!" at the students waiting in the corridor. He was about to close the door when Harry dashed in. He was flushed and looked somewhat like he'd been dragged through a patch of Venomous Grumbling Shrubs a few times. Snape stared at him with a look of contemptuous glee and said, "Mr Potter. Late again. Ten points from Gryffindor."

                Harry made no reply but merely walked to his desk. Snape ordered Zabini and the irritating little Patil creature to assist him with the ingredients for the day's lesson; Granger immediately began to demand to know where Harry had been. He shrugged and muttered something about the boy named Wood from the Ravenclaw team; the faces of the other two Gryffindors fell instantly.

                "So where did you go?" the Weasel asked far too loudly for what Draco felt should have been a private conversation.

                "Gavin was upset… I went to comfort him a bit. I mean, it's his best friend's dad, isn't it? He knew him really well."

                _Convenient little excuse, there…_

"What are you waiting for?" Snape's voice demanded from the store cupboard, "Get your cauldrons out and begin heating them. Do your notes not state _clearly_ that the metal has to be hot before the process can begin? Potter, ten points from Gryffindor for not setting an example."

                "Yes, sir," Harry answered flatly, before sticking two fingers up at the professor's back.

                "And another ten for assuming that I do not have eyes in the back of my head."

                All three Gryffindors gaped after him in disbelief.

                Time was dragging for Draco. It seemed to take forever for the pot to reach sufficient temperature and no sooner had he begun to add his African frog moss and raven bile to the already simmering pool of cat urine than Granger began whispering again. He tried to ignore her, but somehow knew she was interrogating Harry about why he had been late for class – he wished he could hear Harry's response over the bubbling of the cauldrons, but couldn't make out anything he said. Suddenly, Granger gave a high-pitched squeak and cried, "Harry! What on Earth happened to your neck?" which naturally attracted the attention of most of the class. Draco refused to look.

                "Er…" he heard Harry mumble vaguely before the Weasel cut in:

                "Bloody hell, Harry! Have you seen the size of the love bite on your neck?"

                Every single cauldron fire in the room flared and almost simultaneously the cauldrons themselves exploded in a foul-smelling shower of cat wee and bile. Pugsy Parkinson and the horrible little bimbettes from Gryffindor burst into tears as they began to turn an ugly shade of orange and their ears swelled to the size of mangoes. Weasley burst into fits of laughter, pointing at Harry and Granger, who in turn pointed out that his entire body matched his hair, now. Crabbe and Goyle looked at each other stupidly as if they had no idea what was happening and Draco himself was glad that he did not have a mirror to hand. He looked up to see a decidedly carrot-coloured Snape advancing upon him slowly, a look of sheer, unbridled menace upon his face. He raised his hand and pointed silently at the door for a moment before bellowing, "OUT! BLACK! NOW!"

                Draco was rather glad for the excuse to leave; he suspected that if he had been made to remain his punishment for laughing at the furious, orange Potion Master's mango-sized ears would be considerably worse.

Black was sitting on the desk in his classroom when Draco arrived, reading something on a piece of parchment and tutting impatiently. He looked up when Draco knocked on the door, and promptly spent the best part of ten minutes laughing at him. This did not do much to improve Draco's mood.

                "Fuck up with the Sincerity Potion?"

                "How did you guess?" Draco barked back irritably.

                "Remus blew up ours when we did it. He was crap at Potions and it's pretty volatile, isn't it?" Black explained, still grinning annoyingly.

                "I did happen to notice."

                "So what did you do to yours?"

                "There was a fluctuation of cooking temperature."

                "Meaning you back drafted the fires. I see. And what's my godson done to piss you off this time?"

                Draco scowled, "That's between me and Harry."

                "You always say that and I always find out," Black told him. "But, as it happens, I think I already know."

                "Do you really?" 

                "Yeah, I think so."

                "Well, do you plan to elaborate or are you attempting to annoy me further?"

                "It's because the mental little sod otherwise known as my godson got completely off his tits last night and jumped you," he declared with an air as annoyingly superior as Granger giving the answer to a question for which no one else had volunteered.

                "You think so?"

                "I'd put money on it."

                "Well, you're not very well informed, then."

                "What?"

                "Did Harry tell you what happened? Did he mention that so-called 'boyfriend' of his getting extremely cosy with one of the girls from his Quidditch team?"

                "Yes, he did actually."

                "Right, well, did he tell you who it was that tried to make him feel better? Me. Did he mention who had been warning him about the hairy monstrosity since all this began? Or who it is he comes running to when he needs to talk about something and doesn't want to come to you and Lupin or Tweedle Dumb and Tweedle Brainiac? Me – as if I really want to know about his sordid little love life! I try to be his friend, despite everything, and this is how he repays me!"

                "Oh come on, Malfoy – if you're going to give him mixed signals all the fucking time what do you expect? He's only bloody fifteen years old and he's got no idea what's going on with his fucking hormones – don't you start getting arsey with him because _you_ lead him on and he responds! You didn't see the poor little bastard the other night, bawling his eyes out because you'd fucking yelled at him. If you've got a problem with him being the way he is you'd either better learn to fucking get over it or just fuck off!" Black told him defensively, "And I doubt he's fucking likely to do it sober, if that's what you're worried about."

                Draco stared at him in disbelief. "You think this is because I have a problem with his sexuality?"

                "I reckon you were offended by it when he tried it on, yeah. So if that is the case, Malfoy, you'd better learn to be a bit fucking more tolerant-"

                "_Tolerant_? Maybe you should be telling Harry to be a bit less tolerant because he'd letting Cross get away with murder!"

                "You what?"

                "Oh? Haven't you heard about that either? Cross told him some sob story and Harry forgave him at the drop of a hat!" Draco told him, feeling the anger and frustration building up again; coursing through the veins around his neck, shoulders and arms in a wash of peculiar fizziness.

                Black stared at him in surprise before composing himself enough to say, "So things are working out for them. Why can't you just be happy for him?" in a distinctly accusatory tone.

                Draco completely lost his rag, and before he knew it he was yelling back, "_Happy_ for him? How can I be happy for him when I'm in love with him? Why is it people assume that falling in love with someone renders you completely selfless and capable of watching passively while everything you want gets wasted on someone else? It doesn't desensitise you – it makes everything a hundred times worse! How can you expect me to be _happy_ for him?" He knew as he said it that he was saying too much, saying more than he wanted to, but he couldn't stop himself. It all came flowing out in a long stream, but it did so with such conviction, such sincerity, that he simply had to let it. At the back of his mind he remembered something about a potion, but carried on, almost unable to stop himself. "I have tried _so_ hard to help him and pretend it didn't matter and I'm sick of it! I'm not doing it anymore. He doesn't care – he runs straight back to the Ape Boy as soon as he clicks his fingers – why should I _bother-_"

                "Malfoy, shut it for a minute, will you?" Black interrupted suddenly, looking at him as though he were a venomous tentacula about to strike, "You're talking a load of bollocks. What's all this crap about – what was it? – _being in love with Harry_?"

                "Exactly what I said. What else would it mean, that I want to borrow his socks?"

                "Don't get clever with me, kid."

                Draco gave a frustrated sigh and complained, "It's not fair, Black. I've tried everything I can think of short of spiking his pumpkin juice to make him like me and all he does is tell me how wonderful the two-timing beast is. I can't do it any more."

                "This _is_ a fucking joke, isn't it?" Black asked warily.

                "NO! WHY WON'T YOU DAMN WELL LISTEN TO ME?"

                "I _AM_ LISTENING!" Black yelled back at him, "You're telling me you're – _you_ of all fucking people – are in love with my godson! What d'you expect me to do? Fucking dance? It's bloody ridiculous, anyway. You're fifteen years old, you don't even know what love is."

                Draco glared up at him, trying to hold his lip from quivering. "I'm sixteen," he said through gritted teeth; "It was my birthday yesterday."

                "Many happy returns."

                "Happy? How do you expect me to be happy about _anything_? Harry is driving me insane, my father and his master have started to attack and I know that the more they do the sooner I am likely to die!" Draco replied, "What could I possibly have to be happy about?"

                Black gave him an awkward smile and offered, "You'll only be orange for a couple of hours."

                This was the straw that broke the camel's back. Draco sank into the nearest chair and murmured, "I can't do this anymore," placing his head in his hands. "I don't _want_ to feel like this. If I had the choice I'd never have met him; you could never understand how much I hate him, sometimes-"

                "Oi, that's my godson you're whinging about, kid," Black said unusually compassionately as Draco felt him move to sit on the table in front of him. "And I don't think you meant it, anyway…"

                "He just makes me so _angry_, Black," the Slytherin sighed miserably. "I can not help feeling… like _this_… it's not something I enjoy, it's not something beneficial to me – it just gnaws away at me constantly and Harry is so stupid and naïve that he either doesn't understand or doesn't care when his idiotically Gryffindor actions get to me like this. And _don't_ tell me I'm too young to know what I'm talking about because I _do_. You weren't so very much older than me when you went to Azkaban; how can you be sure _you_ know what love is?"

                "I was about five or six years older than you, mate. It's a big difference," Black said without his usual arrogant confidence, but with an inflection of what may have been wistfulness. It sat about as comfortably on his persona as a sombrero on a porcupine. "I've been in love. I know what it's like, I can bloody well assure you, and it may not all be moonlight and roses – definitely not where we were concerned – but it shouldn't be all misery and angst. That completely defeats the object."

                "You've never known _unrequited_ love, obviously."

                Black sat for a moment without saying a word, then muttered, "I'm learning."

                Draco stared up at him, slightly surprised by the comment. "How did it end?"

                "It never really did. I just went to Azkaban and everything was left… unresolved," Black said carefully, adding, "You repeat any of this kid and I'll kick your arse."

                "If you say so…" Draco shrugged despondently. "So now you're free what are you going to do?

                "Try to pick up the pieces. I don't think things will ever be how I remember them, as he keeps telling me, but-"

                "_He_?" Draco interrupted, almost sputtering in astonishment. "_You_ are – _you're…_? It's a _he_? Who on Earth is it?"

                "That's privileged information."

                "Does Harry know?"

                "No, and if you fucking tell him I'll string you up from the East Tower spire by your Quidditch box – and I've done it to people in the past, so don't think I'm joking," Black warned.

                "I can assure you that I have no trouble believing that."

                "Good, so you'd better keep your gob shut."

                "Is it someone I know?"

                "Could be…" Black told him slightly shiftily, "But like I said, it's privileged information."

                Draco sat back in his chair and gave yet another sigh, "So what do I do? If you're such an authority on the matter what do I do?"

                "Never said I was an authority on the matter," Black corrected, sliding off the table and standing up. "In fact, I'm crap at the tea and sympathy thing-"

                "Oh, well, a great lot of use you are…"

                "-but I know someone who's brilliant at it."

                "Really?" Draco asked flatly.

                "Yep. Come on, Pumpkin Boy, I think it's time you got to know an old mate of mine a bit better…"

                "_Lupin_?" 

                "Absolutely."

                "You've got to be joking."

                Black shook his head and took a firm grasp on Draco's shoulder, as though preparing to frog-march him all the way to the shoebox of a cottage they all lived in, "Not even slightly. And trust me, if anyone knows about angst it's him."

                "_Lupin_?" Draco said again even more doubtfully.

                "The guy's been through more shit in his life than you can shake a stick at, so just bloody trust me, alright?"

                Draco gave a dubious grumble, but reluctantly allowed himself to be led from the classroom.

Lupin was standing close to the kitchen window when they arrived, a vaguely distant expression upon his face that rapidly altered to a look of alarm when he registered their presence on the other side of the pane. He moved to the back door and greeted them with a bemused, "So I'm not the only one who can't make Sincerity Potions…"

                Black gave him a twisted grin and said, "Nope. Reme, you know Malfoy, Malfoy you know Remus. Talk."

                 Lupin gazed at him as if he were suggesting he takeoff his clothes and dance around Hogsmeade singing Auld Lang Syne backwards. "What about?" he finally asked lightly, clearly trying to seem perfectly willing.

                 "Being miserable."

                 Lupin's expression turned rather cold. "Naturally, I'm the best person to deal with that sort of thing, aren't I?"

                 "Well… _yeah_. You've been through a lot of shit and I really can't do the talking thing like you can," Black told him almost like a child trying to win around a parent. He gave Draco a small shove towards the other man and said, "Malfoy's feeling a bit miserable because of Harry. It seems that our godson's not telling us everything…"

                 Lupin gave a faintly uncomfortable look and replied, "Really?" before asking hopefully, "Would anyone like any tea?"

                 "Don't change the subject, Moony," Black told him sternly, "You and me are responsible for the little maverick and said maverick has not only been copping it with the Ravenclaw kid – who he's forgiven, by the way – but has been leading Malfoy here a merry fucking dance."

                 "But I thought Gavin was kissing someone from his house, a couple of days ago…?"

                 "He was," Draco informed him. "Apparently, it was a mistake."

                 "Oh, I am sorry, Draco," Lupin said, laying a sympathetic hand upon his shoulder. "But if it's any consolation he was rather upset at the thought that you may be angry with him for… what he did."

                 "Oi!" Black cried suddenly, "Moony did you know about this?"

                 Lupin looked even more uncomfortable, "Yes," he admitted hesitantly, "but as Harry pointed out, it was neither his secret nor mine to tell, Siri–"

                 "You could have told _me_! For God's sake, how much is there going on in this household that I don't fucking know about?" Black demanded, causing the considerably smaller Lupin to give him a quelling look and murmur something about not talking about things like that when the subject was present. 

                 "Don't blame Lupin on my account," Draco said, "I would be having words with Harry about that myself if I were speaking to him."

                 Both Lupin and Black stopped and stared at him as if he had just sprouted horns.

                 "What do you mean, you're not talking to him?" Lupin asked apprehensively. "Draco, really, that's a little extreme, isn't it? Harry was really quite upset the other night – "

                 "No fucking shit-"

                 "-and I really think that you should talk about all this before-"

                 "We _have_ spoken about 'all this'," Draco said sulkily. "What do you think happened yesterday, when he told me he was planning to happily jump back in the sack with King Kong?"

                 "Fucking _hell_, they're sleeping together!" Black exclaimed, a look of horror on his face. Lupin gave a small sigh and rubbed at the bridge of his nose wearily.

                 "Don't be ridiculous," Draco snapped, "It was a figure of speech." _At least I hope it was…_

"I wouldn't put anything past either of them," Sirius grumbled.

"Nor I," Lupin conceded quietly.

"Aren't you going to do something about it?" the blond boy asked. "Can't you ban them from seeing one another or something?"

"Oh no, I really don't think that would be a good idea," Lupin replied immediately, brushing his hair out of his eyes and casting Black a half-glance, "I've seen exactly that method go dreadfully wrong…"

"But if Harry-"

"Look at it this way, kid," Black began, laying a hand on his shoulder as if confiding in him, "what does Harry do to rules? Ignores them. What did James Potter do to rules? Break as many as he could. And coming from us two it'd be a bit rich, really, wouldn't it?"

"It would just exacerbate the whole thing and make him more determined to continue the relationship."

They had a point.

"It's not fair," Draco complained. 

"Life isn't fair," Black reminded him cynically.

"Draco, I can assure you that as far as Gavin Cross is concerned, we are both on your side," Lupin told him kindly, "but we cannot dictate Harry's social life. That wouldn't be fair, either."

"Life isn't fair," Draco returned, bringing a smirk to Black's lips. "And it's not fair that when he needs sympathy he comes running to me and acts as if I'm a shoulder for hire, I spend every other breath telling him not to touch me because I don't like it and he just carries on and now, _now_ he does this!"

Lupin, frowned thoughtfully and murmured, "No… no, that isn't fair…"

"Didn't he tell you that part?" Draco asked irritably, turning to Black. "And you accused _me_ of leading him on!"

"Well, how was I supposed to fucking know? I didn't know all this was going on because no one _tells me_ anything around here and even if I had I'd only bloody heard Harry's side of the story – what was I supposed to think?"

"There's no point in arguing about this," Lupin cut firmly before Draco could answer. "Draco, why don't you sit down and we'll have a proper discussion. Sirius… go and make yourself useful somewhere else."

"Like where?"

"Anywhere that isn't going to get my kitchen reduced to cinders."

"Oh, thanks, Moony, thanks very fucking much."

"Stop swearing."

"Piss off!"

"Oh grow _up_, Padfoot!"

"Excuse me," Draco said loudly, "when you've quite finished acting like _children_…"

Both men looked at him for a moment before fighting back grins.

"Fucking hell, it's Lily Evan's back from the dead…"

"I thought I told you –" Lupin began again before stopping and biting his lip a little self-consciously. "Right, Draco would you like anything to drink?"

"Strychnine?"

"No."

"Cyanide?"

"Anything that _won't_ kill you?"

"No, thank you."

"Well, I'm making tea, so if you change your mind just say so," Lupin told him with a small grin. "Sirius, I've thought of something you can be doing, seeing as it's Wednesday and you don't seem to be doing the essay marking you're _supposed_ to be."

                "What?" Black asked suspiciously.

                "Get up in the loft and see if you can find the box of albums we were talking about yesterday."

                "You do it!"

                "They're largely your albums and they're intended for what may well be _your_ classes, Sirius."

                Black scowled and muttered, "You're such a slave driver!"

                "And you're a lazy sod. Go on, go." With reluctant obedience, Black sauntered off into the living room, while Lupin continued to make tea. 

Draco was too busy gazing around at the worn but comfortable furnishings in the room to pay any attention to their bickering. The house may be small but he had to admit that it was spotlessly clean and tidy without being so neat you were afraid to touch anything. He supposed that this is how the average wizard lived. The ones who couldn't trace back their family trees for twenty-five generations and link in with every major aristocratic dynasty noted in history. He thought it had a strange, vaguely comforting charm to it. The fire in the grate was what actually seemed to heat the room, instead of the numerous warming charms they used at the Manor, where the ceilings were so high and the rooms were so large that they were virtually impossible to warm without them.

He looked up at the bespectacled face of his former teacher as he settled in the chair opposite and noted that his eyes were certainly much greener that the last time he had visited. He wondered when the next full moon was.

"So," Lupin began gently, "tell me exactly what has been going on, because it seems rather clear to me that Harry isn't telling quite the full story."

"Where do you want me to begin?"

"Wherever you think is relevant."

"That narrows it down…" Draco said, frowning, "My entire life revolves around him, these days. And he knows it."

"As foolish as Harry can be, Draco, I really cannot believe that he would do anything to hurt you. Not intentionally. He has a very good heart, even if he has a worryingly Gryffindor head."

"Yes, but his heart, unfortunately, is in completely the wrong place."

"As far as you're concerned, perhaps."

"Yes. And as far as I'm concerned it's where his heart is _as far as I'm concerned_ that matters."

"Naturally," Lupin conceded with a small smile, before taking a sip from his cup of tea. "I'm sorry that he's being so difficult. I really had no idea before Halloween night that you liked Harry in such a way."

"_He_ knew. It didn't change the way he behaved."

"Perhaps it did, though," Lupin suggested with a small shrug. "He kept telling me that he was only trying to be nice to you. Maybe he thought he was doing what you wanted him to."

He was… just for the wrong reasons… 

            "I don't want him to pretend. He only did it because he was drunk and miserable, it had nothing to do with genuinely being interested in me."

"With all due respect, Draco, he was absolutely distraught when he came home. I have never seen him as shaken as he was about this. I can't say that I'm sure what is going on in Harry's head, but I suspect that he feels rather awful about it, too…"

"With all due respect to you, Lupin, you clearly have no idea what he is like the rest of the time."

Lupin gazed at him curiously for a moment, then prompted, "Perhaps not. Would you like to tell me?"

"He's confusing," Draco began after a moment, studying the grain in the worn wooden table. "He'll sit with me and tell me all about things with Cross and while he's doing it he'll… touch me. On the hands, shoulders… things like that. I have told him not to so many times, but he never listens. He knows I dislike it because it makes me uncomfortable, but he still does it. He's always hugging me, touching me – it's so frustrating! Sometimes I can't decide whether I want to shout at him to stop or…or just reciprocate. If I did, though, I know I'd lose him altogether. Harry finds it far too hard to cope with the idea that I have feelings too… When we study together he sits as close to me as he can and… we get on so _well_, Lupin. I don't understand what he sees in that Ravenclaw idiot – the only thing they have in common is Quidditch! It isn't like us. Harry and I really talk… we really… we suit each other. It isn't fair for him to tell me he loves me when he doesn't. It… hurts."

"He told you he loves you?" Lupin asked inquisitively, his eyebrows knitted into a half-frown.

"He said it on Halloween, while he was sobbing on my shoulder and trying to… when he was trying to kiss me."

"I see," Lupin nodded, taking a sip from his tea. "I can see how difficult it must be for you. We have to remember that Harry is quite a tactile person, though, Draco-"

"That's rubbish and you and I both know it. I've known him since he was eleven and he hardly ever touches those friends of his."

"Well, maybe he's more so with you because he knows that you feel for him in a different way to Ron and Hermione."

"I don't want pity."

"Few people do, but sometimes you have to learn the difference between pity and empathy."

                "'Pity' has no 'e'."

                Lupin gave him a gently admonishing look and took another sip of his tea. Before beginning to say, slightly cautiously, "I do understand, you know. I may be a little past that sort of thing as far as someone your age is concerned, but there are things from my youth that mirrored your current situation really quite closely. I know only too well how futile and disheartening it can feel to be in love with someone you can't have and, even worse, to have to watch them enjoy themselves with other people while you try to be supportive of them."

                "I hate it," Draco told him sullenly. "It was my birthday yesterday and I spent the whole thing by myself. I couldn't face walking into the Hall for dinner and seeing him… I can't stand being around my Housemates. They're a bunch of vile little creeps, constantly scheming and trying to better each other over petty things. Harry isn't like that… I thought he was better than them, but then he keeps on doing things and saying things that just make me want to hex him into dust. Are you sure Black isn't actually his father?"

                Lupin gave a small, knowing smile and said, "Quite, _quite_ sure." He took a long drink of his tea, perhaps to hide a broader grin, the admitted, "I think I owe you an apology, Draco. I let my opinion of your father cloud my judgment and I fear I may have been rather unjust in my attitude towards you. I'm sorry; you don't seem to be the sort of person I quite expected." He paused thoughtfully, then opened his mouth to say something else, only to be interrupted by an apocalyptically loud crash. With remarkable speed for one who looked so perpetually exhausted, he shot from the kitchen and through the living room. Rather more apprehensively, Draco followed. He could hear an apparently ceaseless stream of expletives pouring from upstairs, punctuated by the sounds of Lupin suggesting Black calm down.

                He found them standing in the middle of a bedroom completely coated in dust and bearing a rather large hole in the ceiling. Black was scrabbling around trying to scratch his back and finally heaved his top off complaining extremely loudly about the dust being itchy. Lupin looked vaguely amused.

                "I see you haven't located the albums, yet," Draco observed, cocking one eyebrow.

                "Shut up," Black snapped, throwing his balled up top harshly onto the bed, then choking on the dust it threw up.

                Lupin, too, gave a cough and fanned the air around his face before saying mildly, "Go and have a bath you clumsy lump. I'll fix this." He turned and headed back down stairs, muttering to Draco as he passed, "If you want something done ask anyone but Sirius…"

                Draco gave him a small smile and looked back just as Black stomped out of the room and towards the bathroom. He left the door wide open as he leaned over and began to run the bath. He was thinner that he looked, Draco noted as he watched the small bumps of the man's spine protrude rather sharply. In the middle of his back, between his shoulder blades the Slytherin spotted something, a kind of marking imprinted in a dark bluish-black, and moved forward for a closer look.

                "What's that?" he asked.

                "What's what?"

                "That. On your back," Draco explained, "It's some kind of… is it one of those Muggle things? A tattoo?"

                Black twisted and tried to see over his own shoulder. "Er…"

                Draco stepped nearer and squinted at it, "It _is_. And… that's the astrological symbol for Cancer! What on _Earth_ have you got that for?"

                "Cancer…" Black echoed vaguely. "Who says it's not mine?"

                "You – _Cancer_? Oh don't patronise me, Black! _You – _homely, generous, gentle, kind, intellectual? I think not. It sounds to me more like – " Draco stopped mid-scoff and gazed at him with sudden disbelieving realisation. But of course! Why hadn't he seen it before? It was so very obvious, now. "Ohh, I see," he concluded, a wicked little smirk forming on his mouth. "LUPIN?" he shouted down the stairs.

                A moment later the sandy-haired man was standing at the bottom of the stairs, clutching a book of "How to Wand Away… Household Disasters", looking up at them curiously. "Yes?"

                "Lupin, I was wondering, do you happen to have any of those things Muggles call tattoos?" Draco asked innocently.

                Lupin looked surprised and had begun to say that he had when Black called out, "No! Don't tell him, Moony!"

                "Why on Earth not?"

                "May I see it?" Draco prodded, still as innocently as he knew how, "I've been fascinated by Muggles for an awfully long time and I would really like to see one if you have one."

                "Oh, well of course…" Lupin made his way back up the stairs and hesitated, giving Black a strange look, before lifting up his robes and trouser leg to display a small, curly V-shape low on his right ankle.

                Draco gave a distinctly wicked grin, this time. "Ah yes, Aries. I thought so," he said, casting Black a triumphant look. "It's very sweet, you know – if a little tacky. But he's your Achilles heel, Lupin – what a compliment."

                Lupin was suddenly rather pink around the cheeks. Black looked thoroughly miffed.

                "Harry doesn't know, does he?" Draco asked, still smirking.

                "No, he doesn't and if you fucking tell him –"

                "Draco, this is a very complex issue for us. These tattoos were drawn a long, long time ago. Things change and…" he hesitated and cast the briefest of glances in Black's direction before looking very decidedly away, "…neither Sirius nor I know what will happen, yet. To tell Harry now would only make things more complicated and we really would prefer not to trouble him with this, too."

                "Just keep your trap shut, basically. Or else."

                "Oh, believe me, I have no desire to tell anyone about this."

                "Good."

                "I definitely don't need the mental images that would accompany it."

That evening, Harry strolled into the kitchen completely oblivious to any sense of anticipation or foreboding. All he knew was that he was supposed to visit the cottage after classes and had obediently trotted over at his first opportunity. When he walked into the living room and found himself met with a matching pair of grim faces; he halted rather abruptly.

                "What?" he asked slowly.

                "Harry," Remus began, and Harry suddenly recognised a slight look of concern amid the pale green, "we need to have a talk."       

                "Why? What's happened?" Harry asked worriedly, absently raising a hand to rub at his scar.

                "We were hoping you'd tell us that, actually," Sirius told him, looking a touch annoyed. 

                "What?" Harry asked again, by now even more confused.

                "We had a visitor, today, Harry," Remus began. "Sirius brought Draco to the cottage because he was rather upset."

                "What? Is he okay? Is it his dad?"

                "No," Sirius replied, "It's you."

                "Me?" Harry asked with wide eyes, "Wh-what did he say?"

                "He said that when you're not off fucking gallivanting around with the Welsh kid you're basically treating Malfoy like shit."

                "What?"

                Remus gave a slight grimace, as if unsure how to proceed. "Harry, he told me how you have a tendency to be… _over affectionate_ with him – not just on Halloween, but often. He said that although he has asked you quite regularly to stop you still carry on, and he really finds it very difficult."

"I – I don't mean… You don't _understand_…" Harry said helplessly, sitting down heavily in the armchair. "It's not like that…"

                "Unfortunately, Draco feels it is, Harry," Remus told him patiently, "and he's finding the whole thing rather unpleasant." He moved over to the side of the chair and crouched down beside him. "I don't believe for one moment that you would so anything to hurt him for malicious reasons, but Harry, really, some things are just not appropriate."

                "You can fucking say that again!"

                "But you don't understand! I don't mean to hurt him – I just… I say the wrong thing or I do the wrong thing…! I just want to be his friend and do what I can to cheer him up and… and I can't believe that you're taking his side over this!"

                "Harry," Remus began soothingly, "we're not taking anyone's side and you are _always_ our greatest priority, but we would like to understand. Maybe that way we can help clear up all of this mess."

                "What did he say about me?" Harry asked forlornly, pulling the sleeve of his jumper over his thumb and tugging it with his teeth.

                "He said he's in love with you, and he must at least think he is because he was under the influence of Sincerity Potion at the time…"

                "Really? Mine didn't work…"

                "I'm surprised anyone's did. The thing is, though, Harry, that he told us that you and Gavin have decided not to call it a day, and we've been wondering what made you decide that."

                Harry closed his eyes for a moment, to shield himself from the mix of worry and impatience; "Because I like Gavin. I _really_ like him, and he knows what he did was wrong – it was stupid and it was wrong, but it was a mistake. All he wanted to do was cheer up McKnight and she… well, she _y'know_… she started it and he just didn't want to be rude or make things worse for her. He's a really nice person – he is – and he cares about me a lot. His best friend's dad died from one of the attacks and he's really scared of losing everyone he cares about… I know how he feels and I can't abandon him now. I couldn't, even if I wanted to."

                Remus gave Sirius a glance that seemed to carry rather a lot of meaning, but he couldn't decipher what it was.

                "So what about the Malfoy kid?" Sirius asked. "He reckons you've been acting like you aren't quite that decided. Like _you_ think you might prefer to be seeing him."

                "I don't know… I never meant to make things this complicated! I do care about him… I _have_ wondered if…if I could…" he trailed off pathetically.

                "And what were your conclusions?" Remus asked, moving to a more comfortable position.

                "No."

                "_NO?_" Sirius echoed, looking at Remus as if expecting him to decode the comment.

                "I just… I'm so confused about everything! I like Draco… I really, really care about him – in some ways more than I do about Gavin, but… it's different. I wanted to, though… I wished so hard that I could be… that I could _feel_ the way he does, but…"

                "You can't?"

"Well, he's blond…"

"You're basing your entire conclusion on the fact that he's fucking _blond_? You're worse than I fucking was!"

"Not entirely! But I… I can't imagine…y'know…" he could feel himself blushing, and blushing very deep red.

"Oh…" Remus was blushing too, now.

Sirius gave an almighty huff and declared, "Look, even I know that's not everything! You're fifteen! You don't have to worry about what at your age."

"Don't be so patronizing, Sirius! I don't remember you feeling the need to wait for marriage before you started thinking along these lines."

Harry stared at him with a look of sheer shock on his face, "You were married?" he asked in disbelief.

"Fuck, no!" Sirius replied with an equally shocked look, "Moony's just trying to shut me up."

"Look, Harry, I'll be honest with you; I can tell you like Gavin very much, and we won't tell you to stop seeing him, but be careful. Make sure you know what you really want before you allow things to become too serious – in any sense – and don't forget that we are here. I hate the idea of you trying struggle through all this on your own, so _please_ do talk to us if you need to."

"I know – and I will, but…"

"Draco doesn't seem to be quite as bad as I anticipated, I'll admit that – and I should be the first to avoid prejudice – and he clearly does think very much of you, so be careful with him, too. He has a lot on his plate just now and he could do with a friend he can feel comfortable with."

"I know he has… and sometimes we are. We can be really close, y'know?" Harry said, his eyes brightening as he thought of the hours they had spent studying Draco's condition, or sitting on the South Tower watching unicorns, "I like it when we're like that… I like it a lot."

"You managed to forget his birthday, though," Sirius said, raising an eyebrow.

"His bir – his _birthday_! Oh no! I did forget… Damn! I am so useless!"

"Calm down, Harry!" Remus said gently, giving his wrist a squeeze.

"But I forgot his birthday! We had an argument _on his birthday_! I can't believe that I was so thick!"

"Calm down, we can make up for it," Remus said again. "Just trust me, this time tomorrow everything will be alright."

~*~

Draco looked at the small piece of paper in his hands and frowned, wondering what they wanted. 

'_Draco,_

_Please come over to the cottage this evening before dinner. You will not need your notes._

_Remus.'_

                It was nearly half past four already and he had nothing better to do in the mean time, so he gave in to his curiosity and followed the instructions. His discussion the previous day had left him feeling slightly better, as though he had had a large weight removed from his chest. He liked Lupin; even Black hadn't been quite as bad the previous day – even if he was as insane as ever. He was surprised that they had listened, surprised that they hadn't dismissed everything he had said and gone straight to Dumbledore to have him banned from seeing Harry. It was a relief. He was sick of having no one to tell about his feelings. There was no point in telling Harry, because Harry didn't seem to care – and it was embarrassing to keep telling him; it made him feel desperate and pathetic. He didn't need that on top of the misery of having to deal with Harry's idiotic behaviour. Who else was there to tell? Nobody, because even if his housemates had known of the situation he would have never told them a word. They weren't trustworthy enough. It would all go back to his father in the next post. He had already had to explain his social withdrawal, and was fortunate that his father had accepted boredom as an excuse. He thought that perhaps now he had spoken to them Lupin and Black would listen again. In fact, he was desperate for them to.

                The cottage looked cosy and warm as he walked towards it from the castle. The small, diamond-paned windows glowed welcomingly and he thought that he may be beginning to see the attraction of the tiny little house – even if he didn't think he could bear living there. He knocked on the door but gave a step back when it was opened; behind it stood Harry himself.

                "What are you doing here?" he asked coldly.

                "I live here," Harry replied. "Come in, it's freezing out there."

                Draco hesitated, not sure whether he could face being in the same room as Harry for any length of time before he was reduced to hitting him. "What's going on?"

                "Draco?" Lupin's voice asked from the living room, a moment before he appeared himself, "I'm glad you made it, come inside, you must be frozen!"

                He gave Harry one last look, colder even than the November weather, before slipping past him and into the warmth of the living room. The fire was blazing merrily, giving an almost Yule-like feel, and Black and Lupin both stood near the coffee table, slightly nervous looks on their faces. It was only then that he noticed the table was laid out with various kinds of snacks – from cakes to batbites – and at one end sat three parcels of varying size, each decorated neatly and understatedly in green.

                "What's all this?" he asked, carefully, pointing at the table.

                "I missed your birthday," Harry said from behind him. "We thought you might like to have a kind of tea party to make up for it…"

                "I haven't had a birthday party since I was ten."

                "Then it's been far too long," Lupin said, smiling in that gently reassuring way he had.

                "Um… here," Harry said, moving towards him and picking up a parcel, which he then thrusted into Draco's hands, before stepping back and pushing his glasses up his nose self-consciously. It was a soft parcel, malleable to the touch, and Draco was torn between ripping off the paper and throwing back into the Gryffindor's face.

                "Open it," the other boy urged, sounding a little worried, as if that was exactly what he expected of him. Draco decided to open it, just to prove him wrong.

                He pulled open one end and reached inside. His fingers landed upon something soft, which felt like wool – like angora or something equally supple. He removed it from the paper and held it up. It was a jumper, black with a tiny fire embroidered on one side of the chest. The fire was moving, flickering as it were real. Clearly, Harry had put some thought into what to buy him.

                "Thank you," he said stiffly, giving the other boy a small nod.

                "Do you like it?" he asked hopefully. "I think it's really cool – did you see that flame moving?"

                "Yes. Thank you," he said again, without changing his tone. _What do you expect, Harry? An award?_

                "Er – this is from me, it's nothing much, but I thought you might be interested…" Lupin told him, now holding out his own present. It was quite clearly a book; as it turned out, he appeared to have thought along the same lines as Harry. The book was an encyclopaedia of known pyroclastics and associated elementalists. Draco thanked Lupin far more warmly than he had Harry, and hoped he had made his point clearly enough.

                The final present was, of course, from Black. He wasn't sure what Black had been thinking when he bought the present, but beneath the shimmering green wrapping was a carved wooden box, the top set with a large green stone. Rolled up inside the box, however, was what appeared to be a Muggle magazine – the people on the covers weren't moving, at any rate, for which, considering the picture, Draco was rather glad.

                "What's 'Gay Times'?" he asked, holding it up for closer inspection. He just caught Lupin giving Black a look that suggested he may well find himself wolf food at the next full moon. Black was grinning.

                "You said you were into Muggle stuff – I didn't think you'd like _Loaded_ very much…"

                "Wait – this is-! Black, you're insane!" Draco laughed incredulously.

                "Sirius!" Harry gasped, looking over the blond boy's shoulder, "You bought my friend _porn_!"

                "Don't be stupid, that's not _porn_! That's no worse than the magazines I bet half the girls in your House are reading."

                "Dear _God_, will you look at _that_!"

                "There's an article here on the best S & M clubs in London!"

                "Harry, do you even know what that _is_?" Draco smirked, looking at him doubtfully.

                "Er…" Harry looked up at his guardians who also seemed to be waiting for his response and muttered, "Maybe…"

                Lupin shook his head and wandered out into the kitchen, telling Black to follow, _now_.

                "I think Black's going to have a lecture," Draco said, raising an eyebrow.

                "Nah, Moony's alright," Harry grinned. "He'll just make him wash up, later."

                "Yes, I'm sure he will…"

                "Look, Drac," Harry said, moving round so they were more or less facing each other, "I wanted to say sorry – again. I behaved like a total dickhead and you didn't deserve it. I…well, I care about you a lot and I'd _never_ deliberately hurt your feelings. You do know that, don't you?"

                "I thought I did."

                "Well you were _right_. I'm sorry. I honestly, truly am."

                "You can't use me, Harry."

                "I wouldn't do that!" the other boy insisted earnestly. "I'm just a stupid prat and I don't know what I'm doing. I'm not used to this, and I keep on making an idiot of myself, but I don't want you to stop being my friend. I'll learn, I promise."

                Draco took a deep breath and sighed, "Okay. Fine."

                "So we're friends again?" Harry asked hopefully, staring at him with those wide, broken-glass eyes.

                "Oh alright," Draco said, giving him a reluctant smile. A second later he found himself with arms full of Harry, as he was hugged extremely tightly. He staggered a little under the sudden weight, hesitated for a moment, and then hugged him back. "You're getting soppy on me, Potter," he said, half-heartedly.

                "I know," the other boy replied, pulling back and looking at him again as if he wanted to add something else. Draco never found out what it was, for at that moment Professor McGonagall's face appeared in the fireplace.

                "Remus?" she said, before she realised that the two boys were staring back at her in surprise.

                "He's in the kitchen, Professor," Harry told her. She looked pale and agitated and without checking he shouted, "Remus! Remus, Professor McGonagall wants to speak to you!"

                The kitchen door flew open and Remus appeared, closely followed by Sirius, a moderately sized chocolate cake in one hand.

                "Minerva? What's the matter?" he asked, seeing her face and instantly looking equally concerned.

                "Remus, Sirius, I thought you should know. They have just finished clearing the area of St. Mungo's destroyed during the attack. They assumed that Peter Pettigrew was trapped in the rubble but they have run out of places to look. His body has not been found. He is missing."

                The plate and the chocolate cake both smashed onto the floor.


	11. Chapter XI:i Try Honesty

Chapter ~ XI:i  
  
Try Honesty  
  
"I thought I'd found my place before I knew how much it costs to play it safe." Embrace  
  
There was silence for several moments after the neatly crafted cake had met its demise. McGonagall did not speak until Remus carefully asked, "They have no idea what happened? Where he may be now?"  
"I am afraid not, Remus, no," she replied in a worried, sympathetic tone. "He is simply gone, and my fear is that he has returned to his master."  
"I'll rip his fucking ratty head from his body if he comes anywhere fucking near us!" Sirius growled, starting to pace the room.  
"You think he'll come back to the school?" Draco asked, looking at the black-haired man anxiously.  
"We can't possibly judge at this stage," Remus replied quietly, "but Peter was a secure patient, he is classified as clinically insane, we cannot even be sure he knows what has happened-"  
"He did a fucking good job of pretending in the past, though, didn't he? What if all this was a set up? What if we fell for it?"  
"What if he turns into Wormtail and comes here?" Harry asked.  
"No, Mr Potter, the wards would not allow it," McGonagall assured him.  
"Nah," Sirius corrected, stopping in his pacing and staring straight at her disembodied head in the fireplace, "Nah, Min, you're wrong. He spent years in this place and nobody fucking realised it."  
"That was an extremely unusual situation, Sirius-"  
"This isn't exactly fucking normal either, is it?"  
"No, Sirius, it isn't, but as Remus has already observed, Peter Pettigrew is insane. He may even be dead already. We must not panic."  
"I am not fucking panicking! I'm being realistic!"  
"Should we go back to the school?" Harry asked, looking form one adult to another.  
"No!" Sirius replied immediately. "No, you're staying here. It's been nearly two days - Wormtail could be anywhere!"  
"Sirius, we can walk the boys back to the castle. They'll be fine."  
"I said no. It's dark out there, now. I don't want you to leave the cottage."  
"Sirius, don't be so melodramatic. You can't hold everyone hostage because of Peter. He could already be dead-"  
"Or he could be sitting outside right now, waiting to tell Voldemort everything!" Sirius countered, causing both boys to stare at the windows as if expecting the Dark Lord himself to dive through at any moment.  
"If it will give you some peace of mind I am prepared to allow Harry to remain with you for tonight," McGonagall said, eyeing the boys suspiciously. "I am afraid that you must make arrangements with Severus with regard to Mr Malfoy."  
Remus gave her a strained smile and thanked her. She nodded good night and disappeared from the fireplace with a slight wrenching pop. The bespectacled man stared down at the fallen cake, profoundly aware that it now resembled a cowpat and in turn, something that he was sure was about to hit the proverbial fan with some velocity. Behind him, he was dimly aware that an argument had broken out between the other three. It seemed that Sirius and Harry were disputing where Draco should sleep, while Draco tried to insist that he should be allowed to go back to the castle. Every now and then, one or both of the others would tell him to shut up because he was staying. For a moment, Remus wondered if anyone would notice if he wandered out into the darkness himself. As much as he wished he could ignore it, he couldn't pretend that this wasn't the worst-case scenario he had refused to consider. No one expected Peter to matter again. Peter was mentally ill. The only threat he posed was to himself. Or, it had been.  
Remus turned and looked at the other three; Harry and Sirius were half-wrestling, playfully, Draco was sulking nearby, impatiently trying to attract their attention long enough to complain a bit more. Remus was responsible for all of them. They may not like - or even be aware of the fact - but he was. The young Malfoy was perhaps to end up as a ward of the school, but Remus knew, with an inexpressible conviction, that it would all come down to him.  
As a little boy he had dreamed of growing up and having a family of his own. A very feminine longing, perhaps, but one he had clung to until he was old enough to realise his condition would not allow for it. He had grown to despise his condition even further - not to mention his sexuality - for taking from him the final core of normality that he had always wished for so desperately. At Harry's birth he had reached an understanding of this so profound that it had almost numbed the feelings of disappointment. Sirius had sworn that they would be the best 'uncles' a child could wish for, and for a short time they had been. In an album hidden away where Sirius would never find it, were over a hundred pictures of Harry as a child. Every picture featured the tiny infant with one or both of them. His very favourite showed him holding a small bundle of brightly coloured knitted blanket, which reached out and grasped at his glasses from time to time, causing Sirius, who peered over his shoulder, to laugh and kiss him on the temple.  
This, what faced him now, in this room, was not what he had longed for. He felt so desolate and alone. Harry simply needed approval and to be cared for but Sirius was just like another teenager to look after most of the time - headstrong and determined, yet fundamentally incapable of taking care of himself, no matter what he wished to believe. There were times when he could show some maturity, but they were few and far between and it was infuriatingly frustrating when he wouldn't act his age. Like now. But, some part of him reasoned, there was no one else to do it, and he loved them both, so he adjusted his glasses, stepped into the fray, and started making decisions.  
"Draco, I'm afraid you will be staying here until the morning. You can have my room, I'll sleep down here."  
"I want to go back to the school!"  
"I'm sorry, I am not happy letting you walk there alone, and there is no one here who can do so, so you will have to stay."  
"But-"  
Remus cut him off in his firmest voice, "No 'buts'. You will be sleeping in my room tonight. I will sleep here."  
"You could sleep in my room, Moo!" Sirius offered immediately.  
"Really? And where would you sleep?" Remus returned in a tone that Sirius thankfully recognised meant this was not the time for innuendo.  
"He can stay in my room!" Harry suggested hopefully, "I'll sleep on the floor, I don't mind!"  
"Alright, Draco can stay in your room, but you'll have to leave the door open. It's a school night and you can't stay up all night chatting-"  
"Or anything else!"  
Sirius, I'm warning you.  
"You had better change the bed linen. Has Cross slept in that bed?" Draco demanded.  
"No!" Harry replied, blushing deeply.  
Quite right, and I sincerely hope he never does.  
  
Several hours later, having fed them, washed up, transfigured the rug into not one, but two, feather mattresses because Draco refused to sleep in the bed because it was 'uncomfortable' and Harry then demanded to be allowed to sleep on the floor too, found Draco a pair of Harry's clean pyjamas and sent the boys to bed, Remus finally left the rest of the cottage's occupants to fend for themselves and shut himself in his bedroom. He was stressed, but he'd live with it, he'd just knuckle down and get on with it, just like he always did. Although, admittedly, this was not a level of responsibility he was used to. He removed his glasses and lay back against the pillows. His room was the smallest of the three bedrooms, and entirely crammed with bookshelves, which he sometimes thought were a little oppressive, hemming him in, reminding him that all he was was a werewolf with a good brain.  
Beside the bed, another picture stood in a frame. Four boys sat on a bench with their arms around each other. They were all laughing at something off camera - it may have been the day Elias had his nose transfigured into a cabbage - and they were all so carefree, enjoying their youth. Peter was there, of course. Remus didn't believe in destroying memories by erasing undesirable aspects, like Sirius did. None of the photos he owned had had people cut out of them. There had to have been a time when Peter was on their side - genuinely on their side. Why ever would the Sorting Hat have put him in Gryffindor if he weren't brave and loyal and rash? Remus was too forgiving, he knew that for certain. He just wanted to believe that everyone was good, deep down, and that whatever happened to them in their lives, whatever affected the decisions they made, if was impossible to corrupt a good heart. People made mistakes, no one was infallible. Maybe Peter was just one of those people. He was glad Sirius didn't know what he was thinking. Sirius did hold grudges and it was quite likely that if he knew what Remus thought of Peter he would hold a very serious grudge against him, too. Remus hated what Peter had done, he couldn't comprehend why he had done it - but he couldn't help but wonder if something they had done had caused him not only to turn to Voldemort, but to forfeit the lives of his friends. He had even wondered if Peter had hated Remus more than the rest of them. He had known that the one thing Remus needed more than anything was the people around them, the only family he had left, and Peter had taken all of them away from him, one way or another. When he saw Peter at the Shrieking Shack, a year and a half before, he would have killed him. He genuinely would have done, because the state that he found Sirius in, slumped on the wooden floor, the sight of Harry - Sirius' own godson - holding his wand in preparation to kill him, made him so desperately angry that he wanted to eradicate the small, balding man from existence. He wanted him to never have lived, never have shared their happy times when he had brought about so many of their very darkest. And now, even after they had thought Peter's influence on their lives had been cut off - could not progress any further - here he was again. The carefree days of the photograph - of the many pictures in the stacks that Remus had hidden around his property - were gone. Long gone. All he was left with was an emotionally damaged teenage boy - no doubt two, in the near future - and Sirius, emotionally damaged to the point where he almost seemed like a teenage boy. How could he possibly allow himself to resume romantic attachment to someone so vulnerable? It would be wrong - improper - and he wasn't sure he would be fully able to accept that Sirius was, in fact, older than he was and not a youngster, barely out of school. No matter how much he loved him, or how much Sirius thought he knew what he wanted, Remus had to be the responsible one again. He had to hold back and make sure that whatever happened, Sirius was not forced back into his shell - not forced back into the state he had been in when he had first arrived at the cottage - uncertain and unaware of whom he had once been. If Sirius found out the things he surely would if they moved ahead - if they allowed things to develop now, before he was ready - there was no telling what it may do to him in the long-term. No telling what sort of damage it could do. He would simply have to wait, and do whatever he could to keep the other man sane. Sighing, Remus curled up around his pillow, and wondered how he would ever be able to cope.  
  
In the next room, Harry was buttoning up his pyjama top, Draco having retreated to the bathroom to get changed. He had caused a slight fuss about Harry not being allowed to see him in his underwear, which Harry thought a touch unreasonable seeing as he was not the guilty party where that was concerned. Harry didn't care, he was just a little put out by Draco's attitude. Not that I should have been surprised, he mused Tetchy little git. His thoughts were interrupted when the blond boy self-consciously made his way into the room, clutching his neatly folded clothes to a topless, and very pale, chest. "I forgot my shirt," he explained as Harry gave him a baffled look. "Would you mind turning around so I can put it on?" "What? Look, Draco, I'm really not interested in-" "Will you please turn around?" "Alright, alright - I don't see what the fuss is all about, though - it isn't as thought you're a girl, is it?" Harry tutted, turning his back, but not pointing out that he could still see the other boy in the mirror. Draco ignored him and put the pile of clothes down on the bed, holding his arms close to his sides, as if wanting to hide. He was incredibly thin. Harry wondered if that was what he was so embarrassed about as he watched him scrabble to put on the pyjamas, which actually looked ludicrously baggy on him. "Do you snore?" he asked suddenly, jolting Harry out of his contemplation. "What? Oh, no. Well, Ron says I do sometimes, but not always," Harry told him. "Can I turn the light out, now?" "If you wish." A couple of moments later they were laying, side-by-side in near-identical beds, staring up into the darkness. "You had better not snore, you know." Draco threatened again idly, squashing his pillow. "I've told you, I usually don't." "You had better pray you don't tonight." "Why, what're you going to do about it?" "Smother you with one of these pathetic excuses for a pillow." "Yeah, of course you will." "I will, Potter." "I'd like to see you try!" "Oh, really? Is that a challenge?" "Y-oof!" Harry was cut off mid-syllable as he was squashed by a figure that looked dim blue in the faint moonlight and wielded a pillow in its hands. "Draco!" "Still refuse to believe me, do you?" Draco demanded, triumphantly holding the pillow inches above Harry's face. "But I'm not snoring!" "Call it pre-emptive action," the Slytherin smirked, lowering the pillow further. "Draco!" Harry laughed again, trying to push the pillow away from his face. "Scared, Potter?" Draco taunted, moving so he was knelt with one leg either side of Harry and placing most of his rather inconsequential weight so it countered Harry's equally feeble defences. After a few moments of breathless, giggly scrabbling, Harry's arms finally gave way and Draco and the pillow lay firmly across his face. "Ha! Snore now, you ape!" "Mphurfffffumeeedafffohhhhh!" "I'm sorry, I can't hear you. You appear to have a pillow over your face." Harry gave an incredible heave and shoved him off, laughing, "You git!" "I wouldn't say that." "I would." "I could try to suffocate you again.?" "I could try to suffocate you!" "You wouldn't dare." "Oh, I would." "Well, being brought up by a rat-eating convict must do something to you. Heathen!" "That's it!" Harry launched himself onto the neighbouring mattress and practically flattened the other boy, who gave a small squawk. "Oh! Potter, that hurt!" Grinning, Harry pinned him down by the wrists and cooed, "What's my name, Draco?" "Big, Heavy Git." "Nope." He yanked the pillow out from behind his head, causing it to bounce against the mattress and nearly causing them to knock their heads together. "Try again." "Potter the Sadistic Moron?" Harry held the pillow close to the other boy's face. "Okay, okay! It's Harry!" Harry cackled at him. "You are such a wimp." "I am not, it's basic self-preservation. You're an over-enthusiastic Gryffindor! You'd probably have killed me before you'd even realised it." Harry barely quirked his lips in response. Draco looked odd from this angle. He looked different, but maybe that was the moonlight. His skin seemed translucent and his eyes had a beautiful, slightly bluish hue, like the moon on tranquil water. Harry found himself transfixed, feeling as though he were being drawn into them by some unknown force, and was barely aware that he was slowly moving nearer. "I should warn you that if you're going to kiss me again I'm going to punch you," Draco's voice said suddenly, with a lightness that didn't seem quite right, somehow. Harry looked down at the position they had ended up in - Harry not quite straddling, not quite laying upon him, holding both the blond boy's arms above his head with one hand, a pillow left abandoned by the other, which was pressed into the mattress next to his head. Even their faces were barely a few inches apart. In an instant he had leapt away and back onto his own bed, glad of the darkness disguising the colouring of his cheeks, which his heart seemed to be pumping five times as fast to supply. He didn't even want to think about what that peculiar tingle might mean, or how much worse the damage would have been if the blood hadn't been pooled in the reservoirs on his face. "You're incredibly quick when you're embarrassed." "Get stuffed!" Harry muttered gruffly, feeling, as it happened, incredibly embarrassed. "I will do no such thing." "You will if I stuff you." Draco looked at him and raised a pale eyebrow. "You make the most despicable Freudian slips, you know." "What?" "It's hardly surprising that you give the wrong impression when you don't realise what you're saying yourself." Harry blushed even redder, and was sure that he must be glowing pink by now. "We don't all have dirty minds, you know."  
"But you're so innocent!"  
"I'm not as innocent as you think I am!" Harry replied indignantly. Draco looked away for a few moments - Harry thought he may be staring at his neck - then murmured, "Please don't give me details, Harry."  
"I know," Harry replied softly, "I wouldn't."  
There was another pause before the blond boy looked away altogether and asked, in as casual a voice as he could muster, "Have you and Cross.?"  
"Have we.?" Harry echoed slowly, before firmly shaking his head and saying, "No. No, we haven't." "I thought maybe. when you came into class with that mark." He reached out and almost ghosted his fingers over it, before rolling sharply back to stare at the ceiling and clenching his fist to his chest.  
"You mean in Potions?" Harry asked, his mouth suddenly dry, his lips starting to tingle as he looked at the profile of the boy silhouetted in the moonlight. The soft curves and ridges had a bluish-white line defining them and it took a considerable amount of resolve not to reach out and follow the line with his finger.  
"Didn't you notice the room full of exploding cauldrons?" the other boy asked, tritely.  
"Yes." Harry murmured, "I just didn't realise that it was because of that."  
"You don't pay yourself enough attention, did you know that?"  
"No."  
"Well, I suppose that's because Cross is too busy doing it for you, isn't it?" Draco told him, fixing his gaze even more intently on the ceiling.  
"He does, but." Harry's voice trailed off into nothing.  
"'But' what?"  
"I only let him do things like that because I upset him. or. just because he's upset about something."  
Draco looked at him with furious concern. "Harry!" he hissed, "You mustn't do that! You can't cheapen yourself that way! Don't you realise that once your innocence in gone it's gone forever? If you do all this without meaning it you are wasting yourself!"  
"It's not like that - Gavin would never do anything to hurt me -"  
"He already has!"  
"I don't want to have this argument again, Draco," Harry sighed, rubbing his face tiredly. "I like Gavin a lot. I fancy him and he doesn't get unnecessarily pushy. All I meant is that it's the only way I know how to comfort him. You're not the only person I'm stupid enough to be able to hurt all the time."  
"Oh, good. We should form a society."  
"I wish you would. I wish you could get along with all of my friends."  
"When Hell freezes over."  
"Don't you sometimes wonder if this is Hell?" Harry asked, rolling fully onto his side and gazing at the other boy.  
"If I believed in 'Hell' I might suspect it."  
"If you don't believe in Hell how can it freeze over?"  
"My point precisely. It never will."  
  
When Remus awoke the next morning and passed Harry's bedroom on the way to the bathroom, he paused as he caught sight of two figures, one blond, one dark, curled up on mattresses that had started a foot and a half apart but were now virtually pressed together. The boys were curled up in near- mirrored positions, their foreheads barely two inches apart. He felt glad that he had insisted upon leaving the door open, but somehow also apprehensive. He could see a string of complications arising.  
When he returned to wake them up, an hour later, the blond boy had moved. He was stretched out on his back, one hand over his face; the other, Remus realised, was clasped in Harry's. He felt the string of complications weave itself into a chain and anticipated a lengthy period of damp shoulders.  
  
Harry found himself in yet another bemused stupor as he climbed the steps to the Tower. The previous night had been. well, lovely, really. Aside from a few moments of awkwardness, it was fun to just lie around talking and teasing each other. He supposed most people would call it 'spending quality time' together. He felt even closer to him, now, which was probably why - or so Harry surmised - he had come to close to doing something incredibly stupid the night before. Draco was already up when Harry woke that morning. He was sitting beside him, staring at him with a look of confusion and holding one hand out, palm up-wards, as if he had recently been inspecting it. He had insisted that there was nothing the matter when Harry asked and he began to wonder if he was the one a little off kilter when Remus appeared to be studying them curiously but also insisted there was nothing wrong.  
He was dimly aware that the common room was empty - everyone would be at breakfast at this time of day - and he strode into the fifth year dorm without even thinking about it. He was greeted by a clattering thud, a distinctly pink Hermione and Ron's legs sticking up in the air from behind the bed.  
"Ow."  
"Harry." Hermione said with a vague awkwardness, "you're. back."  
"Yes. And now I'm going," he replied, not sure he wanted to know what he had interrupted.  
"We were just. erm."  
"Right," Harry nodded, raising his eyebrows and not entirely sure where to look as he began to make his retreat through the door.  
"Could someone get me up from here?" Ron's voice asked. "I'm kind of stuck."  
"Is he decent?" Harry asked, peering towards the flailing limbs apprehensively.  
"Not bad." Hermione sighed distantly. "Oh! Um. yes, he is."  
Harry cringed. Argh. I don't need that information, I really don't.  
"Ron? What on Earth are you doing? Give me your hand." Hermione tugged at him with both hands until he finally managed to half-fall, half- roll out of the position.  
"We were just. erm." Ron began, his face, too, a deep shade of red.  
"I don't want to know. I really, really don't."  
"So where were you last night?" Ron asked, tugging his uniform straight.  
"We were a little bit worried, really. Professor McGonagall said you were safe, but she wouldn't tell us where you were."  
"I was with Draco."  
"What?" Ron gasped incredulously.  
"What do you mean 'you were with Draco'? Why? What happened?"  
"You don't want to know. In fact, I don't want to tell you, because you'll only whine at me again."  
"Harry Potter, you tell me this instant!" Hermione said, looking immensely threatening. Perhaps because he knew he had just interrupted their coital exploration and was now refusing to give a decent reason; perhaps because her hair looked rather fluffier and more dishevelled than usual, causing her to appear about twice her usual size.  
"We just slept together at the cottage," he shrugged. Catching the open-mouthed looks of horror on their faces he re-considered the order of his words and corrected, "I mean, we slept at the cottage together."  
"Separately, I trust."  
"Yes. And no, you don't trust me because I saw the looks you two just gave me! Nothing happened, okay? Well. nothing definite."  
Hermione looked as though she wanted to hit him; Ron looked as though he wanted to be sick. "Nothing definite? Either it did or it didn't, there is no indefinitely about it!" "There was nothing definitely sexual about it!" "Oh give over, Harry - if there was something possibly sexual there was definitely something sexual about it!" Ron argued. "Right, and you reckon just because you two are at it you know everything, do you?" "We are not 'at it'!" "Too bloody right. It'd not like we'd have the sodding chance, is it?" "Harry, what actually did happen? Indefinitely or otherwise." "We both slept on the floor of my bedroom. We had a pillow fight and. well." he shrugged, not looking at them, "it got a bit intense. but that's all." "Intense in what way?" Hermione asked carefully, eyeing him with overt suspicion. "Well. we just came a bit close to. well. not that it matters because he said he'd punch me if I did anything." "Something such as what, Harry?" "Such as.um. such as kissing him." "Oh for pity's sake!" Hermione exclaimed, shaking her head with a distinct look of 'Give me strength!' "How the bloody hell do you always manage to do that, Harry? You can't bloody keep your hands off him! Why don't you do us all a favour and just admit-" "It wasn't meant to be like that! I was laying on him and we just-" "YOU WERE WHAT?" "We were in the middle of a pillow fight - " "Sounds more like pillow biting to me." "Ron! That's disgusting!" "Look, we didn't kiss, we slept in separate beds - there's nothing more to tell. Just damn well leave it, will you?" "Harry, we're just worried about you." "What the hell for? I'm going out with Gavin, yes, I know that, and maybe Draco and I. maybe we're really. close. but I'm fine, alright? I wouldn't hurt Gavin - I wouldn't do what he did and I wouldn't deliberately do that to Draco again! They mean too much to me - both of them. And to think there's a war going on out there and you're more worried about whether I'm snogging a Ravenclaw or a Slytherin! God.!" "Isn't that half the point? Malfoy is a bloody Slytherin - " "Not going through this again - no, no, no." "We're just-" "Well stop flaming worrying! I've had enough; I'm going to class. If you two can drag yourselves apart I'll see you later." Harry stomped from the room, slamming the door behind him and leaving two very frustrated friends behind it. "Is he stupid, or something?" Ron asked, shaking his head in wonder. "No," Hermione sighed, frowning, "I think he's just falling in love." "You reckon?" the ginger boy snorted. "Question is, which one with?" "I'll be honest with you, Ron, I'm really not sure I want to know." "I dunno if it'd be worse for him to fall in love with Malfoy or Gavin bloody Cross! I mean, they're both a right pair of tosspots."  
"And what is worse for Harry? Getting himself involved with someone who is nice and safe, but cannot keep his hands to himself and is bound to end up hurting him emotionally, or with Malfoy, who poses a huge danger if things go wrong, but whom we can be fairly sure genuinely likes him."  
"Can we?" Ron muttered doubtfully.  
"Ron, it's obvious!"  
"I haven't noticed it."  
"There is no way a boy like Draco Malfoy would behave the way he has been without a very serious motive. He has done things that would humiliate most people terribly - and all because of Harry. He either means it, Ron, or he's a very good actor and all of this is a trick. And I know even you don't think that any more."  
Ron shrugged and shook his head, not wanting to argue.  
"Oh, I do wish he'd just stay well clear of both of them!"  
"Me too."  
"They'll only hurt him, one way or another."  
"Yeah, but he's a big boy now, 'Mione - he's always telling us not to worry about him, so maybe if we stop hassling him all the time he'll learn by himself."  
"I just don't want to see him hurt, Ron. he has already had to put up with so much."  
Ron put his arm around her with the awkwardness of treading still- unfamiliar ground and kissed her on the cheek, "I know you don't. and, I mean, I don't either, but if he won't listen we can't help, can we?"  
She gave a sigh and rested her head against his shoulder, "Oh Ron. I just wish everything would go back to normal."  
Looking down at her, Ron blushed and murmured, "I don't," into her hair.  
  
~*~  
  
That evening, Remus was in a rather lighter mood than he had been the previous night. The sleep had clearly done him good, and he had spent much of the day while Sirius was working thoroughly enjoying his own company. However, when Sirius stepped through the kitchen door he appeared to be in a rather amorous mood, and Remus was forced to spend the next hour slapping at his hands as he prepared to put their dinner in the oven. Finally, when he knew that he had at least three quarters of an hour to spare, he decided to take drastic action.  
"I'm going to take a shower. If you smell burning, for God's sake turn the oven off."  
"Can I come?"  
"No."  
"Oh go on, Moony. Save water, shower with a friend and all that."  
"How droll," Remus told him flatly. "No."  
"What's the matter, don't you want me to help you wax your palms?"  
"Do you want to keep your fingers intact?"  
"Actually I want them-"  
"Stop right there!"  
"Oh you are so fucking prudish, these days!"  
"No, you are just rabid. Now if you don't mind."  
Sirius narrowed his eyes in determination as the other man made his way to the door. He stalked after him sullenly. "You used to let me," he said, folding his arms and pouting.  
"I also used to be a) young, b) wanton and c) gullible."  
Sirius gave a cackle of laughter, "I may have lost my memory, Moony, but I'm not stupid! You and 'wanton' are absolutely fucking mutually exclusive!"  
Remus turned and raised an eyebrow at him. "Well, we certainly are these days. I'll see you in half an hour." He shut the bathroom door firmly in Sirius' face.  
"What, you think a door's going to do any good?"  
"This one will, I am about to riddle it with boobyhexes."  
"That's not fair!"  
"Half an hour, Padfoot." Sirius scowled as he heard the soft whooshing sounds the curses made as they landed on and shook the door. So, he was serious, then. He stood for a few moments, pondering the potential of unpicking every curse from the outside before coming up with a better plan. He'd simply irritate him into opening the door. Grinning, he walked into his bedroom and began looking for anything that made a noise.  
He didn't hear Harry climb up the stairs and walk to the bathroom door; he heard him yell when he touched the doorknob, though.  
"What? What's going on? What happened?" he demanded, launching himself out of the room, wand at the ready.  
"Muh." Harry mumbled, staring at his now thoroughly hairy palms in bewilderment.  
There was a series of clicks as the door was unlocked from the inside and Remus appeared looking as though he'd dressed rather quickly. "Wh-"  
"Well done, Moo," Sirius said, accusingly. "Look at poor Harry's hands! Look at what your boobyhex did," he tutted at him with a wicked glint in his eyes.  
"Oh, Harry - I'm sorry!" Remus said, digging around his pockets for his wand to perform the counter spell. "That wasn't meant for you, it was meant for Sirius."  
"Oh," Harry said, staring closely at his palms, as to make sure all the hair had gone. He looked up at him after a moment and curiously asked, "Why?"  
"What?"  
"Why'd you curse the door to keep Sirius out?"  
"Ah. you know what he's like," Remus began with a nervous laugh, "Always trying to get under people's skin. To irritate, them, I mean. We were just.you know. messing around together. Well, not quite together."  
Behind Harry, Sirius mimed digging a hole. Remus cast him a disgruntled look.  
"How about some tea, eh, Moony?"  
"Oh be quiet."  
"I only came back to get my Divination book."  
"I see."  
"How's Malfoy?"  
"He's alright, I think. He was a bit weird this morning. I'm not really sure why, though," Harry shrugged, "He's just like that sometimes, y'know?"  
"I can imagine."  
"So, um. I'll just get my book."  
"Didn't you need to use the bathroom?" Remus asked, stepping out of the doorway so he could pass.  
"Er. no. I can wait," Harry replied, looking at them like he thought they were both mad.  
"Oh. Well, in that case, I'll just take my shower, then," Remus said, casting Sirius a triumphant look, knowing that even he wouldn't do anything while Harry was around. Sirius pouted and stuck his fingers up at him. This, he decided, was a declaration of a war of wills. Unfortunately, they were relatively evenly matched - it could feasibly continue for years at this rate. Unless he did something very clever about it. Scowling, Sirius retreated to his room and decided it was time to formulate a plan.  
  
~*~  
  
On his was back to the Tower, Harry found himself hesitating at the entrance to the Dungeons. He was strongly tempted him to head down the damp, dark stairwell and visit Draco. Not that he knew exactly how to get into the Slytherin common room or what he would do if he did. In fact, it was only the thought of facing a room full of Slytherins entirely on his own that stopped him. There was a Quidditch game coming up - versus the Slytherins, no less - and he had a horrible feeling that he may find himself irreparably damaged if the Slytherins thought he was trying to get anywhere near their common room, and therefore certainly unable to play. He stood for a moment, staring at the gloom beyond the narrow arch. On the other hand he could just say he was there to see Draco. Except no one's supposed to know you're talking to him, are they, you idiot? He hovered where he was, still. Maybe I could say I was looking for Snape. Snape? He was actually considering that? Knowing his luck he'd meet someone and really have to visit the slimy old git! No, it was best that he didn't.  
He sighed and was just about turn and leave when a familiar voice from behind him sneered, "Oh look, it's Potty Potter. Potter, what are you doing? Don't you have a House to go to?"  
Harry whirled around to see Draco, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle and being clung to by Pansy Parkinson. "I. I was just going.Malfoy," he said slowly, wondering what the hell the other three were doing with him.  
"Then go. We don't want your sort sniffing around our territory," the blond boy said, giving him a perfect leer and causing Goyle to crack his knuckles ominously.  
"Your territory? Since when was this your territory? Last time I checked it was the school entrance hall." What the hell are you doing?  
"Since I said so. You'd better leave, Potter, or I shall be forced to set Crabbe and Goyle on you." He gave Harry a wink as the others started laughing.  
"Yeah, Potty, why don't you go back to your Mudblood and the Weasel?" Pansy shrieked, cackling like a harpy on laughing gas.  
"Pansy, stop," Draco ordered harshly.  
She stared at him for a moment, before beginning to whine, "But Draco, he's just a stinking Gryffindork!"  
"Potter is off limits to you, Pansy, don't you remember? Only the grown-ups get to play with the prize game," he informed her as though he were talking to a stupid child. "Why are you still here, scar head?" he continued, staring at Harry with narrowed eyes, that weren't cold like they used to be, but seemed to be forming a well-practised expression. Going through the motions of an old routine. Things had been so different lately that Harry had almost forgotten that they were not only supposed to stay away from each other but most people thought they hated each other. He wondered how Draco could switch automatically between the two. He hated the other Slytherins, and yet here he was, surrounded by them.  
With a tremendous effort, Harry gave him a cocky grin and said, "We'll see about territory when we get to the game, Malfoy," shoving through the little group and heading for the staircase. He thought he might have faintly heard the other boy hiss 'well done' in his ear, but he wasn't sure. It wasn't really much consolation. He knew that the other boy was only doing it for show - play-acting at the way things had been for the first four years that they knew each other - but it still stung a little. It reminded him that they had wasted so much time and of all the things they had said and done to hurt each other. What sort of idiots were they?  
All of a suddenly he was grabbed from behind and yanked behind a tapestry. He flailed as much as he could until he heard another familiar voice chuckle, "Bloody 'ell, you're jumpy!"  
"Gavin!" he gasped as he was put down, "God, you scared me! I thought. God, I don't even know what I thought!"  
"Really?" the other boy said, looking a little concerned as he realised how shocked the Gryffindor looked. "God, I'm really sorry! I were jus' playin'. I didn' think."  
"It's okay, it's okay." Harry said breathlessly, rubbing a hand through his hair, "I just wasn't expecting it, that's all. No harm done."  
"I' been lookin' fer you for ages. I wan'ed t' catch you at dinner, but I couldn't. I came t' the Tower t' find you las' night an' they said you weren' there an' I got a bit worried. What's 'appened?" the other boy rambled, fidgeting with Harry's robe and brushing his hair out of his eyes for him.  
"Wormtail's missing," Harry explained. "We - er, I was at the cottage when Sirius and Remus heard so.um, I had to stay there."  
"Oh. Well, I'm really glad you were safe." Gavin said, tucking his hair behind his ears and making Harry smile. He always looked so sweet when he did that. "What?"  
"Oh, uh. nothing." Harry blushed, pushing his glasses up his nose self-consciously.  
"No, come on, what.?"  
"It's nothing - really. I was just. I dunno. I like it when you do that."  
"Do what?"  
"Tuck your hair back like that."  
The Ravenclaw blushed slightly, "Oh. That's." he paused and squeezed Harry's hand, "Thanks."  
"So, what've you been up to? How's Simon?" Harry asked, realising that he hadn't even spoken to the other boy since the 'incident' before potions.  
"He's. well, he's copin' as far as I know. Not been up t'much meself. Jus' tryin' t' practice, really. Hard wi' 'alf y' team missin', though."  
"Yeah, I guess it must be. I'm sorry so many of your friends were affected, Gav. it's horrible not knowing what to say to people. I mean, Neville's parents were killed, and it sounds horrible, but I'm glad I didn't see him before he left because. I'm just rubbish at things like that."  
"Is tha' the kid in your House wi' th' puddin' basin hair cut?"  
"Yeah. Yeah. They were. They didn't know him. In the last war they were.tortured. a lot. They didn't know who he was. Don't say anything, though. But, y'know - I suppose it still hurts. If it was my parents it wouldn't have mattered that they didn't know me - they'd still be my parents, y'know what I mean?"  
The older boy nodded solemnly and pulled him into a hug and stroked his hair, gently. "I know. You got me, though. An' I' got you." He kissed the top of his head. All Harry could think of as he leaned up to kiss the other boy was just how close he had been to doing the same thing with Draco. He closed his eyes and willed the thoughts away, but somehow they just stuck. "'Arry?"  
"Yeah?"  
"I were thinkin'. 's nearly Christmas now, innet?"  
"Well, it's about six or seven weeks ."  
"Yeah. I know. but I were thinkin'. firs'ly, wha'd'you want, an' secondly. d'you think Sirius would let you come an' meet my mam an' dad?"  
Harry stared up at him in surprise. "You want me to meet.?"  
"Well," the other boy began, blushing and tucking his hair behind his ears again nervously, "I told 'em. about you. I didn' say who or anything, in case you didn' want me to, like, but. they know abou' you, now."  
"I.well, I dunno. it's going to be the first Christmas we all spend at the cottage, so I dunno if."  
"Oh. oh, okay." Gavin nodded, looking extremely disappointed. "I understand. It's a bit soon, maybe.?"  
"No, Gavin, wait - I can ask, I just don't want you to get your hopes up. Things are all sort of weird at the moment, what with Wormtail being missing and everything."  
"D'you mind that I told them?" the Ravenclaw asked, uncertainly.  
"Of course not!" Harry replied, squeezing him tightly. "They're your mum and dad, aren't they? And, mean, Sirius and Remus know. although they didn't really find out the best way."  
The other boy cringed and turned a shade pinker, "No, they really didn'. I think Sirius 'ates me, you know."  
"Sirius? Why would he hate you?"  
"Well. I jus' supposed tha' you told him - about wha' appened, like."  
"Um. yeah, I was.um. They know. But that doesn't mean-"  
"Oh, I dunno. he jus' seems t' use me fer all th' really nasty curses in lessons an' he's taken abou' eighty points off me, the past few days."  
I'll kill him! "Nah, don't be silly - he doesn't hate you, I'm sure he doesn't. He's just. over protective."  
"Well, I 'ope so. S'not exac'ly a good way t' start out, is it?"  
"Well, no, but I'm sure he'll get over it. He just wants what's best for me. It's a bit of a complex, actually."  
The Ravenclaw gave him a strange grin and pushed the hair out of his face for him, his eyes slightly unfocused, "'Kay."  
"He does keep trying to change me. Just little bits. If he knew - if anyone knew you were still coming to Quidditch he'd go mental. I think he thinks I lack a sense of competition. and a sense of style. but then, everyone says that."  
"I think you're fine jus' th' way you are. I'd love you whatever clothes you wore, a'right?"  
"W-what?" Harry choked out, suddenly finding it difficult to breathe.  
The older boy stared at him, suddenly much paler. "I. I.I'm sorry. I dunno where that came from. It jus' sorta. slipped out."  
Harry stared at him, feeling as though he were floating outside himself and desperately wanting to thwap his physical self about the head and force him to react. "Y-you.? Do you.?"  
Gavin stared back at him, looking slightly worried, "I. think." he swallowed and looked away for a few moments before finally meeting Harry's eye again and nodding, "Yes," very quietly.  
Harry wasn't sure whether he wanted to smile or cry, so he merely buried his face in the other boy's shoulder and squeezed him as tightly as he could.  
"'Arry?"  
Harry didn't respond; he couldn't.  
"'Arry? Are you alright? You don'. mind?"  
Harry pulled back and gazed at him, "How could I mind?"  
"I dunno. I jus' thought. maybe."  
"Don't be an idiot, of course I don't mind!"  
"Really?"  
"Really."  
The Welsh boy gazed at him with the same misty look he had used earlier and gently stroked his face before tentatively leaning down and giving him a soft kiss; he moved away, studying him bashfully, and whispered, "I love you."  
"Th.thank you."  
The older boy's face fell noticeably, even though he clearly tried not to let his disappointment show. "You d-don' feel th' same, do you.?" he asked, looking down and at anything other than into Harry's eyes.  
"Gavin."  
"You won't say it because you can't." There was a distinct shake in his voice this time and Harry closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. "I don't want to lie to you, Gavin." The older boy started to remove himself carefully from the tangle of arms. "Gavin -" "It's. it's okay. I think I'd best. just. get out of here." "No, don't run off - please." "I need t' be alone." Gavin said, accidentally catching his eye and turning away sharply. Harry could've sworn he had tears in his eyes. He grasped both of the other boy's elbows and held the fabric of his robes tightly, "Don't just storm off - at least let me explain myself." "You don' n-need to," the other boy said, swallowing and still refusing to look at him. "I do understand, really. I were jus' stupid enough t' think you might, and I really need t' be alone." "Gavin, just because I don't think I do yet, doesn't mean I never will!" The Ravenclaw looked at him for a moment before asking shakily, "Is this 'cause o' Malfoy? Because if you like him more you should jus' t-tell me. It's not fair if you don'." A single tear rolled out onto his lashes and was rubbed away with the heel of his hand as he looked away again, blushing redder with embarrassment. Harry sighed miserably and tried to reach out to touch his face, his hair - anything - only to have his hand caught gently and pushed away. "Gavin, please don't be like that. it's nothing to do with Draco. I just. I don't understand what I feel at the moment. I've got a lot of things on my mind and I just-" The older boy's breathing hitched and he said, "You're goin' t' break up wi' me, aren't you?" Another tear rolled down his face, accompanied by one from the other eye a moment later; he didn't bother wiping them away this time.  
"No! No - not unless you want to." Harry replied, feeling like a complete git. The last thing he'd wanted was to upset him - make him cry!  
"I jus' told you l-love you!" the other boy sobbed incredulously, "Why would I w-want t' break up wi' y-you?"  
"Because I'm an idiot, and I hurt you and I'm sorry.I'm so sorry. If I had known you'd be so upset I would have just said it to you!"  
"What good's th-that if you don' m-mean it?"  
Harry gave a helpless sigh, "Well - that's exactly my point. I don't want to lie to you, but I really, really care about you and I feel like a complete.arsehole for making you this upset! I'm really sorry, Gavin, honestly."  
"Okay, whatever." the other boy sniffed, swallowing and trying to dry his face on the back of his hand.  
"You do mean a lot to me, you know," Harry told him softly, trying to induce some sort of meaningful contact and being refused again.  
"Jus' no' enough, apparen'ly."  
"You don't know that any more than I do."  
"I know tha' I told you I love you an' you told me you don' love me back."  
"That's not what I said! I said I don't know how I feel!" Harry replied in exasperation, "How am I meant to even know what it's like to love someone? It's not like I was adopted when my parents were murdered - I was just dumped on people that hated my guts! Do you have any bloody idea how weird it is to suddenly have all these people around me who claim to love me, platonically or otherwise? It's scary! It's bloody scary because I've got so much to lose. Everyone I've ever been close to has had really bad things happen to them. Maybe I'm just too scared to love anyone because I don't want them to die!"  
"It's jus' one o' those things, 'Arry! You jus' know when you fall in love, tha's all - you jus' know."  
"Well maybe I'll never realise it," Harry argued despondently, "Because I've got two really, really great people who claim that they're in love with me and I can't even feel like it back. I'm useless and pathetic and I don't understand why you have to feel this way about a prat like me."  
"You say it as if the f-fact I do is a curse or somethin'!" Gavin said, his voice growing shakier again, "For God's sake, if you don' w-want t' go out wi' me any m-more jus' say so 'cause it's funny how it always comes b-back to Malfoy."  
"D'you know what? There's a big part of this that is about trust, Gavin. You obviously don't trust me or you wouldn't have to keep bringing Draco into it! And after the other night how do you expect me to trust you?"  
The other boy looked like he had been slapped. He pressed his lips together to stop them quivering and swallowed several times. "I made a mistake," he said, "I made a stupid, stupid mistake tha' meant nothin'. You're th' one who can't keep away from tha' jumped-up little Slytherin brat. What else d'you expect me t' think when 'alf the time I wan' t' spend wi' you you're off studying or whatever it is you say you do, wi' him?"  
"He - is - my - friend!" Harry insisted, shaking his head helplessly and trying to ignore the little voice that was cruelly muttering, a friend you came very close to kissing, last night. He dismissed it sharply and reminded himself that if the moon had looked like that on Ron he probably would have thought it was pretty, too, but that meant absolutely nothing.  
Gavin looked at him and continued to fight back tears, "Well, maybe if we were jus' friends you'd wan' t' spend more time wi' me, too."  
"Gavin, I don't want to be friends with you!" Harry said, starting to feel tears prickle at his own eyes and angrily refusing to allow them any chance of falling, "I want to be your boyfriend! I care about you and just because I don't want to say something I don't understand, yet, it doesn't mean I want to break up with you! It doesn't." He reached out to take the other boy's hands and although they were pulled away the first time, he was allowed to keep a hold of them when he persisted.  
"I c-can' 'elp bein' jealous." Gavin said, miserably. "I jus' wish I meant as much t'you as. as he does."  
"You do!" Harry insisted immediately. "Gavin, I can like people differently. I like him differently to the way I like you - I promise. He knows that and I know that and you've got to believe me."  
The older boy stared down at their joined hands, rubbing his thumbs across the tops of Harry's knuckles, "I' never felt like this abou' anyone, 'Arry. Never."  
Harry bit back the urge to ask if that included Claudia McKnight. "I've never felt like this either. It's weird and I'm not used to it."  
Gavin looked at him with a certain level of uncertain hope in his eyes, "Really?"  
"Yes. Really."  
"I told my parents about you." he said after a moment.  
"I know, you asked me to come and visit at Christmas."  
"No, you don' understand - they didn' know. They didn' know any of it," he explained earnestly, his voice now considerably less shaky but still tinged with embarrassment. "I 'ad a girlfrien' once. Jus' for a while when I were fourteen; Emillene Mills. They all still think I like girls. I mean - they thought I did. Redburgh knows I don't. He 'eard me tellin' Si' about you ages ago. That's why 'e calls me 'Hilly', see? Like 'Up-Hill Gardener'. He were so 'orrible I thought my mam an' dad would be jus' the' same an' 'ate me for it. Never mind Jack."  
"But they weren't, were they?" Harry asked worriedly.  
"No, no, mam were fine and dad jus' sorta pretends it's normal, an' Jack. Mam says Jack'll get used to it," he said with a sort of forced optimism. "But what I'm tryin' t'say is. I thought they'd react really badly but-"  
"Well why the hell did you tell them, then, you soppy git?" Harry laughed gently, raising his left hand and kissing the knuckles of the other boy's right.  
"Because I'm proud o' you." he admitted quietly.  
Harry looked up and gazed into the other boy's eyes; his cheeks were red and he looked incredibly vulnerable. "Oh. Gav. that's so sweet." he murmured, feeling slightly overwhelmed himself.  
"It's the truth."  
Harry chewed at his lip and buried his face in the other boy's chest, nuzzling against him and squeezing tightly, glad not to be pushed away again and even more grateful when he felt the other boy begin to cuddle him back. He gave a deep sigh and whispered, "As soon as I know, I'll tell you."  
  
A week passed and Harry made a conscious effort to spend time with Gavin. It was difficult, trying to fit in Quidditch practise three nights a week, prefect duties, homework and revision for the mock exams at the beginning of December, but he managed it by staying up in the freezing stands long after it got dark or creeping out in the middle of the night for what was beginning to feel like a clandestine love affair straight from a 1930s romance novel. Although rather less elegant and rather more gay. Their nightly meetings had comprised of more tentative fumblings and a considerable amount of sitting curled up in corners of abandoned classrooms, merely cuddling under the invisibility cloak. He was certainly starting to feel closer to the other boy and had failed to see Draco outside of their regular weekly hour in the safe room. He felt guilty, but he kept reminding himself that he had a relationship he was neglecting and desperate times called for desperate measures. However, even after a week of intensive bond-forming he still wasn't sure what he felt. He expected it to take time, but he was still afraid of hurting the other boy, so he had decided that he would go ahead and ask for the opinion of the one person he could trust not to go off the rails at him. Hedwig hadn't had an awful lot to say, though, so he had finally accepted that he would have to turn to the only person he could probably trust not to go off the rails at him; Remus.  
Remus had a fair amount of time on his hands, now that his department had been put out of action. He'd explained that the Public Awareness of Magical Afflictions department wasn't considered 'important' enough by the Ministry big wigs to be moved and reinstated elsewhere in the ministry buildings; there had been a distinct air of bitterness in his usually soft voice when he had said that. Harry was glad for him, though. He seemed to have been growing progressively more worn out in recent weeks and he thought the rest would do him good.  
Harry let himself in through the back door and wandered into the living room. Remus was lying across the floral-patterned sofa, reading yet another book. He wondered how he never got bored of them.  
"Hiya." Harry said, glad that Remus was alone. He never seemed to relax properly when Sirius was there. Harry suspected it was probably for fear of having some kind of prank pulled on him.  
"Hello," Remus smiled languidly. "What are you doing here?"  
"Um." Harry began awkwardly, rubbing his hands together, "Is Padfoot here?"  
"No, he's up at the castle. Probably in his office."  
"Good. I need to talk to you."  
Remus frowned a little and sat up, "What's wrong?"  
"Er."  
"Harry? Are you alright?"  
"I think so."  
"Is your scar hurting?" Remus asked, almost with a hint of hopefulness, Harry thought vaguely. Must be his imagination.  
"No, not really," he shrugged, "No more than usual. I just. need to talk."  
The fair-haired man breathed in slowly and appeared to steel himself for the conversation, "Of course, have a seat. Would you like some tea?"  
"Um. No thanks."  
"Am I going to need some tea?"  
"I'd say something a bit stronger, probably."  
"Oh. Lovely," Remus said with a laugh before sobering rapidly and asking, "Are you serious about that drink?"  
"Only if I can have one, too."  
"Well, I suppose not then. So. what's the matter?"  
Harry grimaced and wondered where to begin. "Remus, what's it like to be in love?" he asked, finally.  
Remus seemed to freeze for a moment, caught off balance. He swallowed and looked at Harry guardedly, "That's an. interesting question," he said slowly. "Any particular reason you'd like to know?"  
"Sort of."  
"Go on."  
"Well. Gavin said he. Gavin said he loves me and I was wondering what it feels like so I know if I feel the same."  
"I see."  
"I mean, I really, really like him and I know that I care about him a lot and I want to be able to tell him I do, but not if I don't really mean it."  
"Well," Remus nodded slowly, "that's very conscientious and really quite wise of you."  
"I just. I want to. But I don't want to pretend."  
"That's completely understandable. So, what brought all this on?"  
Harry grimaced again, slightly. "He said he told his parents he's. y'know. just because of me. He said he's proud of me," Harry said, suddenly aware that he was grinning to himself and tugging at the piping on the edge of the sofa. "He'd like me to. well, he'd like me to go and meet his parents at Christmas. I mean, I said I'd have to ask and all that, but. well, I want to sort this out now? And, y'know - do you think it'd be okay if I went?"  
Remus sat looking at him thoughtfully for a moment before giving a slight wince and replying, "I'm really not sure, Harry. things have become really quite dangerous. And at risk of sounding selfish, Sirius and I were rather hoping we could spend Christmas together - as a family."  
"But. I don't have to go for the whole holiday! I could just go for a night - just a day, even - for tea, perhaps."  
Remus gazed at him regretfully and sighed, "I'll have to think about it. I don't want anything to happen to you, Harry. Neither would Sirius."  
"I know, but if you or Sirius could take me. They only live in Wales!"  
"And that, of course is just down the road," he teased, giving him a dubious look.  
"Well - I could go by floo - or you could apparate down there and pick me up after."  
"You're really quite keen to go, aren't you?"  
"Well, quite, yeah." Harry admitted. "Gavin and I are getting quite close and stuff. I want to do what will please him and he wants me to meet his mum and dad."  
Remus nodded slowly, "Am I to read from this that things are becoming.serious, between you?"  
Harry didn't know what to say. He supposed they were, but he could tell from the tone of Remus' voice that he was concerned and probably rather worried about whether they were likely to be left alone together for any length of time. He settled for another shrug.  
"Harry," Remus sighed, reaching out and rubbing his shoulder, "I'm not trying to lecture you or judge you, but you're young, and however patronising that sounds, it's true. Don't you think you're rushing it a little bit?"  
"No."  
"It has been.what? Two months?"  
Harry nodded.  
"I know that probably feels like absolutely eons, but in truth, it's a tiny amount of time." He held up a silencing hand as Harry opened his mouth to interrupt, and continued, "Now, I don't want to discourage you. I have to admit that Gavin isn't really in my good books at the moment, but what you see in him is your business and I respect that. I just want to be sure you aren't going to get yourself more deeply involved than you're ready to be. Don't rush things because you can't turn the clock back."  
"You're worried that we're going to sleep together!" Harry said, blushing. "Moony!"  
"That isn't what I'm saying, not really."  
"I like Gavin a lot, I really do but. That's not the point of going to his house or anything."  
"Are you sure?"  
"Yes! It's just to meet his mum and dad, that's all. At least, I think it is. Yeah. Yeah, that's all it is."  
"I don't think you sound too certain, Harry."  
"Well, I mean, it's not like we've talked about it. I don't know. I don't think that's the point, though, honestly."  
Remus studied him pensively for a few moments before looking him straight in the eye and saying, "Let me tell you something; I held onto my virginity until I was nearly twenty-one, and when I finally lost it, it was one of the biggest mistakes I ever made. I was drunk, to all intents and purposes it was a one night stand - even though I cared about the other person very, very much - and the next day I couldn't even remember it. It was only circumstances that made it obvious and it could have absolutely ruined my life. If I could change what happened I'd give anything to do so. Rites of passage are meant to be memorable for good reasons, not because you regret them."  
Harry stared at him, caught between a mixture of sympathy, bemusement and absolute horror at being told something like that by his godfather. It probably wouldn't even have been that bad if it had been Sirius but Remus. He shuddered inwardly.  
"We'll I wouldn't anyway, not yet-"  
"Yes, well, I never intended to at that particular point in time, either, but there you go. Sometimes things happen on the spur of the moment and-"  
"Moony! Please! I don't want to know about that. I mean, thanks for trying to help and everything, but. Yuk! You're like my mother or something! I don't want to know about that!" Harry protested, raising a small smile to his guardian's lips.  
"Yes, maybe you're right. Not all points need to be backed up by examples, I suppose."  
"You could have said it happened to a friend or something. Someone I'm not related to!"  
Remus laughed and gave him a hug. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you cringe. I just want to make sure you don't do something you regret because you really can't get something like that back once it's gone."  
"Well. I mean, what if I actually wanted to? Like, if - and I only mean if - " Harry said, making sure he emphasised the hypothetical nature of the question in hope that he wouldn't be gifted with more details of Remus' sex-life, " - we talked about it and stuff and thought that it would be a good idea. What then?"  
Remus looked vaguely uncomfortable with the idea, but sighed, "That's down to you. It's illegal though."  
"Illegal?"  
"Yes, you aren't really allowed to until you're eighteen. It was twenty-one back then. which technically means we broke the law, actually."  
"Twenty-one?"  
"Well, yes - it was barely even legal then."  
"What are you on about? How can it have been illegal?"  
"My sentiments exactly, but as far as the law was concerned sex was for straight married couples and the free sixties were long gone by then-"  
"Oh my God!"  
Remus looked at him warily, "Are you having a moment of outrage at social bigotry or have you just realised something I thought you already knew?"  
"You're gay? Like me?" Harry asked in alarm, "But - how did you expect me to know that?"  
"Well, firstly, I told you when you told me. I told you that your parents accepted me and they would have accepted you, too," Remus explained.  
"I thought you meant being a werewolf!"  
"Oh," Remus mused, "Yes. now you come to mention it I can see how you would think that. But really, Harry, it's not exactly a difficult assumption to make. Goodness knows enough people do."  
"What?"  
"How often does Sirius tell me I'm an old woman in front of you?"  
"All the time, but-"  
"Doesn't it strike you as a little odd that you consider me to be like a mother figure to you, as opposed to the more obvious father figure?"  
"But you're more like a mum to me!" Harry replied, before adding, "Oh. well, actually."  
"Harry, we're going off on a tangent. We were talking about you, not me."  
"I. yeah, alright.. So, I mean - what happens if you do? Is it like underage magic? They don't have sort of. spies, do they?" Harry asked worriedly, his head suddenly full of all the minor activities he had taken part in of late and whether there might be some sort of points system - so many strikes and you're out or something. He turned suitably red.  
Remus obviously noted his embarrassment and with a mixture of amusement and concern he said, "I doubt it. I think that would be considered illegal, too."  
"Oh. Good."  
"Harry?" Remus began suspiciously, "I hope that isn't a law you've already come close to breaking."  
"No! No, I promise it isn't."  
"Good. I'd prefer not to have told you everything I just did for nothing." Remus replied, relaxing slightly. "You know, it's actually quite reassuring that you had no idea. I was starting to think I was becoming a cliché."  
"You're not going to start flower arranging, are you?"  
"No."  
"Cool."  
"Nor knitting, if you need any reassurance."  
Harry gave a small chuckle, waiting for the information to sink in. Moony is gay. He likes blokes. Sirius can't mind or they wouldn't live together. He can't mind that I am, either, then? I can't believe Moony's gay.  
"Can I ask you something, Moony?"  
"Of course you can," Remus smiled, standing up and setting his book down on the table.  
"How did it feel when you fell in love? I mean, it's what I came here to find out."  
The fair-haired man stopped, and from the way his shoulders slumped slightly Harry thought it was a question he must have thought he'd avoided.  
"It was a long time ago," he sighed. "A very long time. It almost feels like all the good parts are eclipsed by what came afterward. There is no way I could actually describe it, anyway. When you fall in love you won't have to ask; you'll just know."  
  
It was dark when Sirius got home. He walked into the cottage to find it completely blacked out; not a single light was on. "Moony?" he called, starting to worry more each second. It was far too early for even Remus to have gone to bed, so where the hell was he? Why weren't the lights on? He ran upstairs, checked all the bedrooms and raced back down and through the living room to the kitchen. He nearly jumped out of his wits when he saw a figure hunched on the work surface beneath the window. "Moony! Fucking hell, you scared me!"  
"Sorry," the other man said quietly, staring into the tea in his hands.  
"Moo?" Sirius ventured, walking a few steps nearer hesitantly, "What's the matter? Has something happened? Did you go and visit 'Nifer?" The thin figure sitting in the moonlight shook his head. Sirius stared at him for a moment, wondering. There was something familiar, here. This was bringing back fragments of memories, something he knew he'd thought of recently, but couldn't quite place. "Remus? Remy, what's wrong?" he asked again, moving forward again until he was leaning against the work surface beside him.  
"I was just thinking."  
"Really?" he asked softly, "What about?"  
"Us. How we used to be."  
In a flash, the memory was there; the morning after James' stag night. He had sat on the side at the flat and stared out of the window just like this. "What brought this on, then, Moo?" he prompted, knowing that the last time he had found him like this Remus had been deeply unhappy.  
"Harry came around today," the other man told him, his voice still quieter and more pensive than usual. "He wanted to know what it's like to be in love."  
Sirius frowned, "Did he? He doesn't reckon he's in love with the Welsh kid, does he? Bloody Potters. What is it with them and taffs?"  
"He doesn't think he's in love, Sirius. Not yet."  
"So what did you tell him?"  
"I told him he'd just know."  
Sirius studied him for a minute and wondered where this was heading. "Did you 'just know'?" he asked.  
"I always knew. I just didn't label it."  
He reached out to brush the fair hair out of the other man's face, and found himself asking, "Do you still know, then?"  
Remus ducked back from his touch, "Don't," he said. "I can't deal with this at the moment."  
"Deal with what? Remus, what is the bloody matter with you? Can't I even fucking touch you any more without you shoving me away?" Sirius half- yelled in frustration. He had tried to provoke the other man into some kind of reaction, tried to make him acknowledge what they used to be, and all he had received was continuous knock backs. He couldn't bear the frustration. He didn't understand what was so difficult for him, why he felt the need to distance himself when they both knew that they loved one another. They had wasted enough time already - why did he have to insist upon wasting even more?  
"You're always pawing at me, Sirius. I don't like it. I'm not just here for you to play with. I'm starting to feel like an inflatable."  
Sirius stared at him in disbelief, "How can you fucking say that? How could you even think this is about sex?"  
"Because I remember being twenty years old and how your selfishness could have ruined my life." His voice was matter-of-fact, almost cold.  
"What?"  
"You got me drunk, don't you remember? You spiked my drinks because you knew I would never have drunk that much if you hadn't and you. You didn't know how I felt and all you were planning to do was use me-"  
"How can you fucking say that? How, Moony? I did it because of the way I fucking felt! And from what I remember - and I do fucking remember - you were hardly complaining. I'd never have made you do anything you didn't want to! I can't believe what you're fucking saying!"  
"I'm not accusing you of anything. I just cannot let that sort of thing happen again. I'd waited all that time and when finally. when we." Remus put his head in his hands and murmured, "I couldn't even remember."  
Sirius stared at him. He wanted to do something - reach out, comfort him in some way - but clearly, this was not what Remus wanted. "I loved you. That's why I did it, Moony. It wasn't some sort of fucking joke. All I was going to do was kiss you and blame it on the drink. You were the one who encouraged me."  
"I wouldn't have if I had been sober."  
"Yeah, and then we would never have said anything to each other and we would both have been completely fucking miserable over nothing! What the hell does this have to do with things, anyway, huh? What I did when I was a kid and what I do now -"  
"You may as well be a kid, Sirius! Don't you realise that? You act like a child - like a kid of Harry's age - and I can't. I just can't."  
Sirius stared at him, unable to believe what he was hearing, "You reckon I act like what?"  
"Like a child, Sirius," Remus told him wearily, "like a child."  
"You know what? I'm not the fucking one who's acting like a child, here, Moony. I'm not the one throwing a tantrum about something that happened years ago or -"  
"I'm not throwing a tantrum. I just asked you not to abuse the fact that I am feeling incredibly miserable. You're the one shouting, Sirius. You're the one who can't stop acting as though you're hard done by. What do you actually do with your life? Could you look after yourself if I wasn't here to look after you? No, you couldn't, Sirius, you just couldn't."  
"Oh hello, Remus, you self-righteous prat, in case you'd fucking forgotten, I was still living at home with my parents when I was chucked in fucking Azkaban. The only time since then that I've been free and not living here I was forced to live on rats in a fucking cave-"  
"You enjoy eating rats!"  
"Oh yeah. Haute fucking cuisine!" Sirius replied sarcastically. "You're meant to be fucking intelligent, Remus! Use your fucking loaf, will you?"  
"I know it's about Peter! But it's not the point-"  
"No, it's fucking not. The fucking point, Moony, is that you're fucking acting as though I spend all my life trying to molest you! Don't you understand that-"  
"Don't you understand? Don't you even try, Sirius? You are like a child! How can I possibly allow myself to become involved with someone who needs me like they need a parent? You aren't even emotionally capable of that sort of relationship-!"  
Sirius stared at him, feeling like he had just been punched. "God, Sirius, it's times like this I wish I could still drink!" "Still what?" Remus froze, before wrapping his arms around himself and half turning away, "Nothing." "You just said... Why the fuck can't you drink?" "I don't want to talk about it." "Well, I fucking do. Why can't you drink?" "Leave it, Sirius," the other man said warningly, but Sirius didn't care, he was sick of not knowing things that affected him, sick of everything being a string of secrets that he was only allowed to hear of when other people made mistakes. "No." "I'm asking you to drop it, please." "WHAT-FUCKING-HAPPENED?" "YOU DID!" They both remained frozen in shock for a moment, neither quite sure if this was real. Remus had just bellowed at the top of his lungs, something that, in all his memories, Sirius could not remember him doing once. "What...?" he asked, feeling as though his throat were closing up. Remus slumped back against the cupboards defeatedly, "You did...you happened. It happened -- everything happened. I couldn't cope, alright? I just could cope..." "So what're you saying, Moo? What's that got to fuckin- Wait. Fucking wait - you're trying to tell me... Oh, for fuck's sake, Remus!" Realisation dawned and Sirius turned and struck the table hard with the palm of his hand. "Do you think I meant for it to happen, Sirius?" "How could you be that fucking stupid? It's fucking - fucking...FUCK, Remus!" "I was alone. Completely alone. All I had to do every night was sit by myself in a flat that was. that was so full of you. except you weren't there. All I wanted was to just forget. Once, twice. I just got to the stage where I couldn't do without it. I was frightened, Sirius... Frightened of being alone and frightened of other people because they knew what I was - everyone found out afterwards. The news of the 'great betrayal' of the Potters by their best friend was everywhere. They thought I was part of it, did you know that? They interrogated me for hours and hours and it was in the paper and everyone thought I must be guilty because I'm a werewolf and I had no one on my side and all I wanted to do was forget, numb it out, even for a little while and I just. I saw what I was doing and I didn't care. I couldn't care. How could it matter when James, Lily and Peter were dead and everyone was saying. saying that you had killed them?" Sirius gazed down at the curled-up figure on the work surface, feeling as though he could almost cry. What the hell had happened to them? They couldn't even talk. "You should have told me." "You didn't need to know." "Don't be so bloody ridiculous! Of course I fucking did." "You didn't need to know because I didn't think you were ready for my problems. Sirius, you've been through so much-" "You've been fucking molly coddling me since the day I arrived and you tell me I'm acting like a kid? God, Moony, is it any fucking surprise?" "I just wanted to protect you." "Well what about looking after yourself you idiot?" Sirius asked, partly angry, partly longing to go over and pull him into a fierce embrace. "I didn't have the time." "You should have made time! Fuck. Were you always this much of a bloody martyr?" "I'm not a martyr." "You need someone, too, for fuck's sake! You can't just cope with all this shit on your own!" Sirius told him, walking over and forcing him to raise his head and look at him. "I'm a fucking adult, Moony. I can look after myself." Remus gave him a despondent, doubtful look and he corrected, "- well, I can almost look after myself. I'm not a fragile little flower or something. You have to let me fucking share this with you. I know you - I know what you're like - you'll end up going fucking mad!" "I've managed so far." "Have you? So what's this about, eh? What's with this shit you've been telling me about hitting the fucking bottle, eh?" Remus looked suitably castigated. "You can't fucking cope on your own, no matter how much to tell yourself otherwise and you shouldn't bloody well have to! I'm here! I want you and me to be there for Harry and do it together. I don't want us to fucking avoid each other! Fucking hell, Moony - wasn't that the point of me coming here?" Remus didn't answer; he merely buried his face in his knees and shrugged his narrow shoulders half-heartedly. Sirius looked at the sorry, fragile- looking form and decided that enough was enough. He pried the other man's fingers from where they were wrapped around his knees, clutching his upper arms, and slid his own arms around him. Moony, don't push me away. I can't fucking stand it. I can't go through it again, Siri, I can't. You won't have to! I'm not going anywhere - not without you. It was with great relief that Sirius felt Remus uncurl himself so that his legs hung over the edge of the work surface, either side of Sirius' hips, and bury his face in his shoulder. Sirius squeezed him gently and kissed the top of his head. "God, I've missed you," he whispered, so intensely glad of the simple contact that he had to make a conscious effort not to squeeze so tight he crushed him. The irony of the situation was not lost on him, either. Minutes earlier Remus had been telling him that he was like a child, but here they were, almost like a parent comforting an infant, and Sirius wasn't the one who needed looking after, this time. "I love you," he whispered into the soft, sandy locks, "and this has never been about getting laid. Never. I just wanted you back, Moo, and I didn't know how to do it. You do understand that, don't you? I know I'm a fucking stupid, insensitive arsehole, sometimes, but I never mean to hurt you. You mean everything to me and yet. you've grown up. You're my Moony, but you're different, now, and I don't know what this new Moony wants. I just wanted this. I just fucking wanted us to be close again." From somewhere beneath his chin, he heard the soft, faintly Scots voice murmur, "I'm sorry." and he thought of all the times he had been the one apologising. They would all tease each other when they were younger; James' glasses, Peter's diets, Sirius' hairy legs, Remus's studiousness, and also his absence of any distinguishable accent. It was something Sirius hadn't thought much about until he had overheard Lily scolding James about it. 'Don't you realise, you silly great idiot, that it's a part of who he is? He doesn't know where he's from - it could be anywhere! It's nature over nurture and he doesn't know where he came from. You can be such a moron sometimes, James Potter!' Lily had been right about so many things. She was perceptive like that and Remus had always adored her, even when the others had hated her. It was how she and James ended up first friends and then an item and then. parents. Remus was like Harry, in a sense, he didn't have the firm, definite roots that some of them took for granted. Sirius knew that his father's family came from Ireland and his mother's from the Nevada desert. He knew all about the tribe his great-great-grandparents had been members of. All his life, Remus had had his foundations hidden from him. It was no surprise that he was so afraid of allowing himself to become close to anyone when every time he did they were taken from him. Two sets of parents, his friends. everyone.  
And yet, Remus' voice was one of the most beautiful things about him. It never stayed with one particular accent and could go from a soft, rolling Highland like his adoptive mother, to southern like Sirius or James's or sometimes almost a lilting Welsh like Lily's or comic Brummie drawl like Peter's all in the space of a few sentences. But it was beautiful. It could be so soothing and gentle, or reassuringly calm and in control. And it was familiar, even if it changed so much.  
"Don't be sorry, Moo," Sirius whispered back, now painfully sensitive to his own harsh consonants and slightly shortened vowels. "Just stop trying to be so fucking brave."  
Remus pulled away gently and looked at him, shakily raising a hand to comb it through Sirius's untidy black hair. He seemed off-colour, as though tired and frustrated and almost on the verge of tears. His hands felt cold as he stroked Sirius's face. "I never thought we'd have a chance like this again," he said, his voice slightly shaky and thick with repressed emotion. "I can't get used to the idea of you really being here, Siri. I tried as hard as I could not to hope for it."  
"Well I am. And this time I promise not to go anywhere. At least no further than the pub, eh?" Sirius joked, raising his own hand to tangle it in the soft, sandy locks of the other man.  
"You've just got to give me time, Paddy."  
"I know, Moo, and I will, I promise."  
"I waited for you," Remus whispered, still sounding embarrassed by the fact.  
Sirius gently pulled his forward and rested his cheek against the side of his head, "I know, Moony, I know."  
Remus carefully leaned back a little, manoeuvring them into a position where their foreheads rested together and Sirius could see strands of his own hair falling into Remus's eyes. For a moment they nuzzled close to each other, and then, almost accidentally, their lips brushed together and in the next moment they were locked together in their first real kiss for more than fourteen years. Sirius wasn't sure if he'd ever been this happy.  
It was not a kiss that was particularly passionate, but it was intense in its significance and it felt, just for a few moments, like fourteen wasted years had been worth it. When they broke away Sirius found himself feeling oddly satiated, something he didn't remember ever feeling after something as trivial as a kiss. But this kiss wasn't trivial. This kiss meant everything was going to be alright and nothing could possibly matter less than sex did at that moment because he just wanted to cling to him for as long as he could. The logistics of sex would probably restrict his ability to do that.  
"Come on," he said, pulling him gently until he slid off of the work surface and stood on the rough flagstone floor.  
"Siri, I can't. I'm not ready to-"  
"Shh," he said giving him a reassuring kiss on the forehead, "I'm not trying it on. It's just uncomfortable out here, I just want to go and sit down, alright?"  
Remus nodded and allowed himself to be led through into the living room and pulled down onto the sofa, where he was soon nestled into Sirius' shoulder again, both arms and one leg wrapped around him. They didn't move until morning.  
  
Chapter ~ XI - To be continued. 


	12. Chapter XI:ii What it is to Burn

**_Due to some errors in uploading fics to fanfiction.net and Skyehawke.com, I now tend to post chapters to the Yahoo! Group at schnoogle.com much earlier than I do here.   
  
I want to thank everyone who has stuck with the fic so far and say that it means a hell of a lot to both myself and Ashe, my incredible beta and best friend.   
  
This chapter is dedicated to Screamo in all it's shouty glory. _**

**Chapter ~ XI:ii**

**What it is to Burn**

**_"_**_Seems our wax wings have melted away…" Billy Talent_

****

Draco didn't take long to notice that something was up with Sirius Black the next day. He wasn't being surly or impatient and he was smiling. Continuously.

                "Alright, I've had enough, just tell me," he sighed, when he had, quite literally had enough. There was only so much out of character behaviour he could take from some people. He didn't trust sudden fluffy-clouds-and-flowers behaviour from convicts with tempers like doxies on amphetamines.

                "Tell you what?" Black asked, obviously trying to repress a rather shark-like grin.

                "What you're so happy about. But if it's that you had your wicked way with Lupin I don't need the nitty gritty, alright?"

                "What makes you think that?"

                "You look like one of those dreadful Cheshire cats. It's a pity you won't disappear, too, really."

                "I don't look like a fucking cat! I hate cats!" Black laughed, giving him a shove which was probably intended to be amiable, but nearly knocked him off of his feet. "Well, except Crookshanks. He's alright…"

                Draco stared at him, unamused. "So, are you _planning_ to tell me or will I be forced to endure your dozy grinning all day?"

                Black smirked, and looked around, even though they were alone in the room and had been for an hour, "Well," he began, "it's just that it looks like we're actually getting back together."

                Draco had to repress a grin of his own at the man's obvious excitement. He was extremely jittery and seemed to want to squeal and jump up and down, barely managing to keep himself in check.

                "Congratulations."

                "Thanks. I'm really pleased, y'know?"

                "I did suspect so."

                "It's been such a fucking long time… It's just bloody fucking brilliant. Fucking _brilliant_."

                "I honestly don't care how much 'fucking' was involved, Black. I may just vomit if I learn, too."

                Black blinked at him for a moment before replying, "Oh! No, no – not literally! Nah, nah, it was nothing like that." He gave a distant smile and blinked a few more times.

                "Well, if you aren't likely to destroy my innocent sensibilities with your rampant sexual exploits – which is all too close to bestiality for my liking – you can elaborate. Provided there is no suggestion of sex. You're meant to be my teacher for pity's sake! How do you expect me to respect you once I've been forced to imagine you naked?"

                "You'd better not imagine me naked, Malfoy."

                "Oh I _promise_ with my entirely black little heart not to. Really. I should have to kill myself."

                Black flapped at him, vaguely, muttering, "Don't do that either. It'd piss of my godson."

                "I'm not so sure about that, actually," Draco replied, not allowing his disappointment of the past week to show. "He doesn't seem to have much time for me at the moment."

                "What d'ya mean?" Black asked, settling onto a table. It seemed he had something of an aversion to chairs.

                "The only time I see him is our scheduled meeting. He's far too busy with the fat Welsh baboon to bother with me at the moment, that much is patently obvious."

                "Yeah, I see what you're saying. Between you and me, mate, I think he's got pretty shitty taste."

                Draco stared at him through half-narrowed eyes. "No, I mean, who would want to be involved with a tall, dark, sports prodigy?"

                "Lily Evans, weirdly."

                "And perhaps _Remus Lupin_?"

                "What?" Black asked, looking slightly stupid. "Oh. Fuck. Well, when you put it like that, I suppose his taste isn't too bad really."

                "You're an arrogant git at times, you know."

                Black gave him another broad, toothy grin, "I have every reason to be."

                "Hm. I wish I could say as much for myself."

                "Well, we can't all be perfect."

                "Obviously."

                Black stopped grinning and gazed at him for a moment, before asking, "What's the matter with you, mate?"

                "Oh, you know, life, the Universe, your godson. The same as usual."

                "What's he done now?"

                "Nothing. Particularly not around me."

                "What do you mean?"

                "Well he's either avoiding me since he tried…" Draco cut himself short, quickly. "He's either avoiding me or he's being told to not to hang around me with me as much."

                "Not by us, he hasn't!" Black said quickly and starting to frown. "Why would he avoid you, anyway?"

                "Because he's stupid prat who doesn't learn from his mistakes."

                "Has he been acting up again?" Black asked with a huff, "We fucking _told him_ he can't keep acting like that."

                "Well, since I stayed at your cottage he hasn't been acting at all. I've only seen him once and we can't speak in lessons. I can't face sitting in that stupid room for another evening just hoping he'll grace me with his presence." He blushed, hoping he hadn't actually said that out loud.

                "You haven't been fucking _waiting_ for him?" Black demanded in exasperation.

                "As mortifying as it is, yes. I don't have any other option. If I want to speak to him I have to wait for him," Draco explained stiffly.

                "And you're really that desperate to see him?"

                "Not desperate, thank you very much, just keen."

                "Really?"

                "Are you trying to suggest otherwise?"

                "Absolutely."

                "Well what do you expect? I'm used to seeing him virtually every day!" Draco snapped. "He tried to kiss me again and now he can't stay far enough away! I just really wish he'd grow up."

                "Or maybe we should all act more like kids and then we might avoid all the fucking stress of 'grown up relationships', eh?"

                "It's easy for you to say – you've got what you want; you're happy. I'm stuck in purgatory."

                "Ah yeah, but by its very nature purgatory is only temporary, isn't it? You'll get to the big fluffy cloud eventually."

                "Do I look like a Catholic to you?"

                "And there's me thinking you were part of the choir…"

                "Stop it. My misery is not amusing."           

                Black stopped grinning and gave a sigh. "So, what do you want me to do about it?"

                "You could let me bake Cross and claim it was an accident…"

                "No."

                "Oh, go on."

                "No."

                "Then… I don't know. I don't suppose there is anything you _can_ do. I'll just have to carry on waiting for the stupid git to come and find me. I'm starting to hate that room, you know. I spend so much time there it's like a prison cell."

                "Less of the prison analogies, kid."

                "Well it's true! I'm stuck there trapped by my own stupidity. And yet I still do it! Every evening, all weekend… I'm becoming supremely pathetic."

                "Yeah, you kind of need to get your life sorted out, mate. I know he's my godson and I love him to death, but are you sure Harry's worth all this misery?"

                "Unfortunately, yes. But it isn't like I have any choice in the matter. Or anyone to talk about it to."

                "You can talk to me and Re, can't you?"

                "That also appears to be something I have no choice about."

                "Look, you can come over to the cottage any time you want. Remus is nearly always there and if I'm not stuck in this stupid bloody classroom I usually am, too. Just don't fucking hole yourself up on your own waiting for him. It's no wonder you're depressed if that's how you spend your time."

                "I do use the time to study, you know. I'm not completely stupid. Besides, I wouldn't want to interrupt anything, would I?" Draco added sarcastically.

                "Trust me, at the moment the most exciting thing you're going to interrupt is one of Remus' complaints about the garden." 

Draco grimaced and turned towards the window. "Maybe I will, provided you don't do anything disgusting like kiss in front of me. Are you sure?"

                "Completely fucking sure. At the moment, anyway. Good things come to those who wait. So to speak."

~*~

Harry led Gavin around to the back of the cottage by the hand, and made for the kitchen door. He had finally decided that he was sick of having to spend his time in draughty classrooms and was going to make use of the fact his own home was now on school grounds and take his boyfriend back to visit. The intention had been to sit down with his godparents, maybe have some tea – generally show them that Gavin was a sweet and respectable boy, not a thuggish sex-fiend as both of them seemed to assume. Gavin had taken a considerable amount of persuading before he would willingly even set foot within fifty yards of the garden gate. He was, by this stage, becoming thoroughly terrified of Sirius. 

                He gave the older boy's hand a reassuring squeeze as he opened the back door and stepped in. As he looked up, though, Harry stopped dead in his tracks, causing Gavin to bump into him from behind. All three of the kitchen's occupants stopped talking and stared back. Draco sat at the table with Sirius and Remus, apparently enjoying a cream tea. He had smiled brightly as Harry had walked in, but his face had frozen as Gavin followed.

                "Oh, hello, Harry," Remus smiled after a moment, "come in."

                Harry tightened his grip on the older boy's hand as he tried to pull away and leave the cottage. "No, Gav, come in," he said, not sure what to make of the scene he was confronted with. He looked at his godparents and Draco and said, "Alright?" a little uncertainly.

                The blond boy took a deep breath and muttered something Harry couldn't hear.

                "Come on," Remus prompted, casting Draco an uncomfortable look, "have a seat, both of you." He stood up and smiled at Gavin, offering him his seat. Gavin blushed and began to edge into the kitchen hesitantly, as though he'd rather be running full-pelt in the other direction.

                "No, don't worry about it," Harry said, pulling Gavin towards the living room instead, "we'll go upstairs. C'mon, Gav."

                "You don't have to, you know, you could always stay here and join us," Remus urged, casting a glance at Sirius, who was eyeing Gavin with some suspicion.

                "No," Harry insisted, backing into the living room and pulling Gavin with him, "we'll go upstairs."

                They were followed by a chorus of three voices yelling, "LEAVE THE DOOR OPEN!"

                Gavin stopped and stared back towards the kitchen looking utterly gobsmacked. Harry tugged him into the hall and up the stairs. "I can' believe th' cocky little bugger jus' told you what t' do in your own 'ome!"

                "I can. Draco doesn't usually let technicalities like that stop him," Harry said, grinning.

                "Why's 'e even 'ere?" Gavin asked, sounding a little sulky.

                "I dunno. He, um… well, Sirius is giving him private tutorials so I suppose it's something to do with that."

                "_Malfoy's_ getting' private tutorials in th' Dark Arts?"

                "I dunno," Harry lied, shrugging and pulling him into his bedroom, "and it's Defence, anyway…"

                Gavin shut the door very firmly and deliberately behind them, giving Harry a devious grin.

                "Remus will have heard that, you know," Harry warned him, pushing him bodily over to the bed.

                "We can say it was the wind."

                "I don't think anyone's going to believe that if they come up here and we're naked…"

                Gavin gave a surprised chuckle and asked, "You plannin' t' get me naked, 'Arry?"

                "Um…" Harry began, fighting a smile, "maybe half…"

~*~

Dowstairs, Draco had rather gone off tea and scones. A tense silence hung in the room, Lupin was slowly rotating his teacup in its saucer and Black was picking grains of sugar out of the cracks in the wooden table top.

                "He did that on purpose, didn't he?" the blond boy said suddenly.

                "Draco-"

                "He did, Lupin, he did that on purpose!"

                The fair-haired man gave a small sigh and replied, "No, I don't think he meant anything by it. It was probably more to do with Gavin being clearly very uncomfortable."

                "Well, I bet Harry's making sure he's _really_ comfortable now."

                "Oh come off it, kid! Harry's not stupid enough to do anything while we're in the room below, is he, Moony?"

                "Well, they probably only shut the door because we told them not to – "

                "They shut the door?"

                "Yes."

                Black scowled and leaned back in his chair, arms folded across his chest, glaring at the ceiling with intent.

                "I hate Cross," Draco growled, stabbing his teaspoon into a half-eaten scone, which promptly erupted into flames.

                "Draco, please don't burn my house down," Lupin said softly, pouring his tea onto the cake and successfully extinguishing it, "I'm really quite fond of the old place."

                "I wasn't going to," Draco replied peevishly. "I just don't see why he had to do that! He's been ignoring me for days and it's all because of the Abominable Welshman! I wonder what Cross would say if he knew how friendly Harry _can_ be when he's not around…"

                "Would you really do that to him, Draco?" Lupin asked, casting him a stern look. "Harry is happy, would you really be selfish enough to take that away from him?"

                Draco stared at the sodden remained of the scone. "I don't want him to be _un_happy, I just don't see how he _can_ be with… with that _thing_!"

                "Draco," Lupin sighed, rubbing his brow, "maybe we're under-estimating Harry's judgement. Everyone makes mistakes – "

                "Are you taking Cross' side?" Draco asked, looking betrayed, "I thought you hated him!"

                "We don't hate the kid," Black said, "we may not like the little bastard, but we're biased. If Harry's decided he's alright who're we to fucking argue?"

                "I thought you were on _my_ side!"

                "I, for one, am trying very hard not to take sides. Harry is growing up – and growing up faster than I realised. Sirius and I have missed out on almost his entire childhood; I know that I am not prepared to drive a wedge between us now."

                "Hear-fucking-hear!"

                "All we can do is help him as much as he asks us to; or as little."

                "Don't you care that that fat idiot has already hurt him?"

                "Of course we fucking care!"

                "That is precisely why we're so concerned, but neither of us is going to tell Harry whom he can or cannot see. And I hardly think Gavin could be considered fat. Stocky, perhaps, but not fat."     

                "He's a fat, hairy letch."

                "Draco, there is no need for that."

                "Yes, there is! He doesn't care about Harry! Why will no one believe me?"

                Lupin cast Black a glance before saying, "Draco, Gavin told Harry that he's in love with him. Whether it is true or whether he is merely deluding himself isn't for any of us to say."

                For a few moments, Draco said nothing. Then, quietly, he asked, "Does Harry feel the same? Did he tell you?"

                "No," Lupin said, with a faint smile, "Harry doesn't even know what it is to be in love, yet."

~*~

Directly upstairs, Harry and Gavin were wrapped around each other, kissing rather intently. Harry enjoyed kissing Gavin. Gavin didn't kiss teeth-first, for a start. He had soft lips, which he attributed to using Vaseline on them every time he flew. He said it was to stop them getting sore, but had actually gone to completely the other extreme and made them very soft instead. He did have a little stubble, as times, but he was over a year older than Harry, so it was hardly surprising (although Hermione had disapprovingly commented upon his stubble rash and told him that people would start noticing, soon).

                Gavin was very gentle, very loving and very considerate, when it came to matters of the flesh. It was if he was sometimes too shy too press to take things further, meaning that Harry would quite often have to take the initiative or face blushing mumbles of "Is this okay?". Once he knew he wasn't going to cause Harry to run away screaming, though, he would be quite intense – such as when he had given Harry the now infamous love bite before Potions (not that anyone had made any accurate suggestions as to who gave him it) – and Harry actually quite liked it. 

                Everything that had happened between them so far had been over clothes (if you excluded a few occasions when hands had wandered under pyjama tops or when _someone_ had had a raspberry blown against their bare stomach). It was really quite restrained of them, in Harry's opinion, but he wasn't afraid of moving on, now. He needed to explore his feelings and he wanted to explore his sexuality, too; judging by the fingers edging beneath the waistband of his trousers at the small of his back, he wasn't the only one.

                Gavin suddenly gave a small grumble and shifted a little. "'Arry, d'you mind if we swap sides? It's jus' that' me arm's gone a bit numb…"

                Harry grinned and gave him a peck on the lips, "'Course not."

                Gavin gave him another kiss in return and began to edge over the top. He bent down to give him another, half-way over, and, entirely unbidden, an image sprang to Harry's mind, of Draco on the floor a few feet away, bathed in pale-blue moonlight and staring up at him with near-luminous eyes. He felt a twist of guilt in his stomach, knowing how close he had come to kissing him.

                "Are you alrigh', love?" Gavin asked, propped up on one elbow beside him. He bowed to kiss him on the cheek and brushed his fringe out of his eyes.

                "Um… yeah," Harry smiled back, catching the hand and stroking the knuckles. "I was just thinking."

                "What abou'?" the Ravenclaw prompted softly, kissing his fingers.

                Harry pulled his hand free, carefully, and lowered it to Gavin's belt buckle, eliciting a look of astonished anticipation from the older boy, and murmuring, "Can I?"

                Gavin, never taking his stunned brown eyes from Harry's, dropped his newly free hand onto Harry's hip and tentatively ran it along the edge of his waistband. "Can _I_?" he echoed nervously.

                Harry smiled and leaned in to kiss him, whispering, "I hoped you'd say that."

~*~

"Lupin," Draco asked, once Sirius had stood up and wandered into the back garden, "how did you cope?"

                "Cope?" Lupin echoed, pouring himself some fresh tea. "You mean with Sirius?"

                "You told me you knew how I felt, so how did you cope? It's not hard to surmise that Black was the sort of boy who was never short of admirers and made the most of the fact, so how did you convince him?"

                Lupin stirred his tea anti-clockwise, gazing into it thoughtfully for a few moments, before setting his spoon down on his saucer and sighing, "Firstly, you're wrong about Sirius; secondly, Sirius didn't require convincing. He _required_ a window of opportunity."

                "Really?"

                "Yes. He was certainly popular once he'd returned from the fourth-to-fifth-year summer holidays having put on some weight and ceased to look like a gangly twit. And he joined the Quidditch team, so naturally that helped. He did have a few brief… flirtations. No one lasted more than a few weeks because Sirius was far more concerned with sport, practical jokes and his freedom. Fire signs are like that."

                "And guess who else is a fire sign…" Draco said flatly.

                "Indeed," Lupin smiled, taking a sip of tea, "but they're very different people."

                "Thankfully," Draco smirked, looking out of the window to where Black was expertly climbing a very large tree. "What on _Earth_ is the idiot doing?"

                "I haven't a clue," Lupin said, shaking his head as if he wasn't sure he wanted to know.

                "When you said that he needed a window of opportunity, what did you mean?"

                Lupin gave another distant smile and said, "I didn't realise it at the time, but my years and years of pining after him were completely wasted. He was just too much of a stereotypical lad to know what he was doing, and when he did I think it was the first time Sirius Black was lost for words. He didn't know how to tell me, and I was certainly not about to tell him! Sirius had a confidence I never possessed and he couldn't bring himself to say anything, so it wasn't exactly surprising that I never could. Besides, we were best friends and neither of us would have been willing to jeopardise that."

                "I thought James Potter was his best friend?"

                "He was, in the broadest sense. They grew up together, they knew each other inside out – they even looked alike when I first met them – but when we grew older Sirius and I became much closer. We were all best friends – all four of us – but we each had different qualities that we needed from one another, to balance out our own traits. Sirius and I were the most extreme opposites, so I suppose we needed each other more than James and Peter needed us."

                "So what happened between you? If you were so afraid of ruining all that, how did you—"

                "Morals," Lupin said with a laugh. "Or should I say 'lack of'?"

                "I beg your pardon?"

                "Well, I don't believe that the details are for your ears, but, essentially, it was Sirius being a typically selfish, hedonistic young man. He wanted something so he took it, making a complete mess of things on the way," Lupin smiled wistfully, looking out of the window to where Black was now crouched, more cat-like than dog-like, half-way up the tree. "He can be thoughtless, stupid and down-right insensitive, but he means well. He loves the people he loves and hates the people he hates. It can be hard to distinguish between the two, at times, and _not_ hard to forget that he doesn't mean everything he says and does. You learn to live with it, and learn to forgive very quickly when you're around someone like Sirius."

                "Hark! The voice of experience," Draco smirked. "It must be a nightmare for you, I suppose. Being Cancerian, I mean."

                "Why do you say that?"

                "Well, I do _know_ my astrology! Don't you have an over-riding urge to throw back everything back in his face, at times? Isn't that what you do? You're certainly very much a Cancerian in every other aspect of your life."

                Lupin stared at him blankly for a several long moments, before finally saying, "I have my flaws. It isn't easy to forget things that had the potential to ruin your life."

                "The time he told Professor Snape how to get into the Shrieking Shack, you mean?"

                "That too, yes," Lupin said looking away from him. "There were other things, but those are private."

                "So if he made a mess of things what did you do to resolve it? You obviously didn't leave it like that…"

                "Our friends forced us to make sense of everything. That's the beauty of having friends; sometimes they can see things more clearly than you can yourself."

                Draco picked at the table cloth silently for a moment. Then, swallowing, he asked, "What do you do when the only friend you have is the one you're in love with?"

~*~

Strange things were happening to Harry as he lay on his bed with Gavin's hand down his trousers, and they weren't exactly what he had anticipated. His head was filled with thoughts that simply would not go away and which really were not conducive getting his rocks off. The fact that most of them involved Draco didn't unduly worry Harry, but mental images of the other boy laying on his bed, pale and motionless, balanced precariously on the edge of the tower wall, shoving him to the ground with his eyes full of sadness, yelling at him furiously, telling him emotionlessly that he couldn't be friends with him any more, his face falling as he caught sight of Gavin walking into the kitchen behind him… none of it made him want pleasure; it made him want to bang his head against a brick wall. Knowing that the other boy was sitting in the room below, just a few feet away, made it even worse. 

There was life, Jim, but not that you'd know it.                                       

                "Gavin," Harry said, barely above a mumble, reaching with his own already redundant hand to still the other boy's still dutifully tending one, "you may as well stop… It's not working, is it?"

                The Welsh boy looked him through his lashes and bit his lip. "Is it my fault?" he asked meekly, "Am I doing something wrong?"

                "No, don't be daft," Harry replied softly, "I think it's just because… y'know… there are people downstairs… I'm just a bit worried they'll walk in on us again or…I dunno – I just can't relax. But it's not you, okay? It's nothing to do with you, because I suggested it in the first place, didn't I?"

                Gavin nodded, still looking concerned and reaching out to stroke Harry's face. "Would you tell us if it _were_ me?"

                "Yes," Harry told him more certainly than he believed, "because if it _was_ you it'd mean we had things to talk about. But it's not."

                "D'you promise?"

                "I promise."

                "'Kay," Gavin sighed, pulling him into a tight cuddle and kissing his forehead. "Nex' time we'll make sure no one's gonna walk in…"

                "Yeah… and I'm… y'know… glad that you…_did_."

                "I still feel guilty, though… I mean, wha' sorta boyfriend am I if I can' even distract you enough for somethin' like tha'?"

                "Hey, I thought I just told you it's not your fault? If anyone should be feeling bad it's me – it's a bit of a let-down, isn't it. Well… it would be if it had ever been _up_ in the first place…"

                "No, 'cause I still… enjoyed it… but I would obviously've enjoyed it _more_ if we'd both… _Enjoyed it_, like."

                "Well, I didn't _not_ enjoy it –"

                "I know, I know, but… still…"

                "Gavin?"

                "Hmm?"

                "Do you mind letting go for a minute so I can do my trousers up? If Sirius storms in again now it will all have been pointless because he'll castrate the pair of us…"

                Gavin let go rather quickly and sat up. For a few moments he just sat there, rubbing circles in his palm with his thumb. Then, very quietly he said, "'Arry, don't shout at me for sayin' this, but… I… I meant wha' I said the other day." He glanced up at him, blushing, and continued, "I really do love you, an' I don' mind if I 'ave t' wait fer you t' work out 'ow you feel an everythin'… jus'…" he swallowed and stared even more intently at his hands, "jus' _promise_ me tha' when you know you really will say. You will, won' you?"

                Harry crawled over to him and made him stretch his legs out in front of himself so he could kneel over his lap. "Gavin," he said, holding his face very firmly between his hands and staring into his round, doleful eyes, "I promise you that the moment I know I'll tell you. And I'm a Gryffindor – we keep promises. Well… most of us do… And I won't shout at you for telling me how you feel, okay? I wasn't even annoyed about that the first time, it was just you not believing me-" _any more than I believe myself _ "-when I say I don't fancy Draco." __

                Gavin carefully moved his hands and clasped them in their laps, before leaning in and kissing him gently. "In tha' case," he whispered, "I love you; an' I'll wait until the cows come 'ome fer you t'say it back."

~*~

In the kitchen, Draco had been giving Lupin a running commentary on what Black was doing up the tree. Lupin was making what smelled like undrinkably strong coffee.

                "I'm going to ask him, you know," the blond boy said, absently, as Black shimmied along the branch, "because he ran out of here like a man possessed – which he probably is, knowing Sirius."

                Lupin made a vague noise of assent before turning and quickly saying, "No! No, Draco, I wouldn't do that."

                "Why no- ? Dear God, he has just fallen out of the damn tree!" Draco launched himself to his feet in alarm.

                "Hmph. Well he knew what he was doing up there. It was inevitable – don't worry about him. He bounces, anyway."

                "What? _Bounces? _I thought only Longbottom _bounced_!"                    

                "You'd be amazed at the things Sirius can do…"

                "That's disgusting, Lupin. I thought you were more refined than that."

                "I beg y-"

                He was cut short as Black flung open the kitchen door, looking part stricken, part incensed. "Moony! Th-"

                "I know, Sirius."

                "No, they're-!"

                "I _KNOW, _Sirius."

                Draco narrowed his eyes and scowled at them, "They're what?"

                Both men turned red and refused to look at him, Lupin keeping his coffee as close to his face as was possible without shoving his nose in it.

                "Oh my God…" he whispered, looking at them in disbelief. "Are they…?" 

                No one answered.

                "They've been – been…? With us down here? But they – "

                Lupin finally shook his head with a sigh, "No. They didn't actually have sex."

                "Certainly wasn't fucking chess, though."

                There was a faint but distinct smell of burning in the room, but the only the fire remained in the grate and barely gave a flicker.

                Draco swallowed repeatedly and slowly sank down into his chair, resting both elbows on the table and placing his head in his hands. He didn't see the look of regret from Black or the look of heartfelt sympathy from Lupin; all he could see were mental images he wanted nothing to do with.

                It was maybe a quarter of an hour later that the three occupants of the kitchen heard the sound of feet descending the staircase. Unanimously, they tensed – albeit for very different reasons – and waited for the two boys to walk into the room. Harry looked no more dishevelled than usual; Cross looked as though he had made a concerted effort to be tidy, and was blushing furiously.

                "Are you alright?" Lupin smiled, now clutching his second coffee in white-knuckled hands.

                "Er… yeah, fine…" Harry shrugged, over-nonchalantly.

                "What are you up to now? Would you like to stay for dinner? I'll begin, soon."

                "Um… no, Gavin's going back to the school… he's got homework to do."

                "Oh, well, perhaps another time?" Lupin said, as both Black and Draco wore matching looks of 'Over My Dead Body!'

                "Thanks…" the Welsh boy mumbled. "I, um… Ancient Runes stuff t'do, y'know?"

                "Don't let us keep you," Draco said coldly.

                Cross looked at him nervously, and if it were possible, turned even redder. "Um…I'm gonna go," he said to Harry, barely above a whisper, "I'll speak t' you later…"

                Harry nodded and reached up to kiss him goodbye. He gave him a faint smile, and met no one else's eye as he hurried out of the back door.

                For a few moments there was a deathly silence in the room. Everyone seemed to expect Harry to fly off the handle, and Harry couldn't help but wonder if the whole incident had been orchestrated. He dismissed this as ridiculous and sat down at the spare seat at the table. Still, no one spoke.

                "So what were you planning on making for tea, Moony?" Harry asked, lightly. "I'm quite hungry, really…"

                "Been working up an appetite?" Draco spat, sitting with his arms folded across his chest and fixing Harry with one of his iciest glares.

                Harry blushed and stammered, "W-what?"

                "What do you take us for, idiots? We know what you and the cradle-snatching sheep fancier were up to, Harry, so there's no point in denying it."

                Harry's face was burning up with embarrassment, by this time. "W-wh—w-we…"

                "Harry, I thought you and I spoke about this," Remus said in the sad, disappointed tone that always made Harry feel like he'd just murdered a sack full of cute fluffy kittens.

                "We didn't sleep together!"

                "You say that as if it really makes any difference," Draco sneered, looking at him through the same hateful eyes that Harry had been used to seeing this time a year earlier – and for all of his school-time prior to that. "You're still whoring yourself, either way."

                "Draco, calm down," Remus said sternly, looking to Sirius for support he clearly wasn't going to receive.

                "How am I whoring myself?" Harry demanded, his temper rising rapidly. "Gavin is my boyfriend, Draco! I am doing nothing _wrong_! For God's sake! I'm sorry, I _know_ it gets to you, but this is _my home_! I am not answerable to you here, okay?"

                Draco got to his feet so quickly his chair fell over. "You're disgusting," he spat, looking him up and down like he was the cheapest, nastiest piece of work he'd ever come across. "You let him do whatever he wants to you and complain when I call you a whore – "

                "For your information, it was _my_ idea! _I _wanted to take things further! _I_ was the one who got sick of fumbling around in cold classrooms in the middle of the night and wanted to bring my boyfriend home to see my family but had it _ruined_ because you were so rude he was scared to be in the same room as you! Are you happy, now? None of that would have happened if you could just for once swallow your bloody pride and try to be civil to him, Draco!"

                "How can I be civil to something that barely even speaks the English language?"

                "For a start he was brought up speaking Welsh, you sarcastic bastard, and secondly, slagging people off doesn't make you seem clever, Draco, it makes you seem like a spoilt little brat, just like you used to be!"

                "Boys, stop it. I meant it, stop this ridiculous bickering right now – "

                "Remus, stay out of it. I love you loads, but stay out of this because I am _sick_ of Draco trying to ruin things for me just because he can't have what he wants!" Harry said, gritting his teeth so as not to shout at him.

                "I'm trying to make you see what he's like, Harry! Why wo-"

                "HOW WOULD YOU _KNOW_?" Harry yelled. "How would you fucking know when you've never even spoken a civil word to him in your life? All you ever do is slag him off and put him down and when you see him you make him feel like he's a piece of shit!"

                "Harry, stop swearing. I'm serious. Stop swearing or I'll have to – "

                "What? Stop my pocket money? Send me to bed without any supper? For God' sake! You're the only one who can bring yourself to be polite to him, Moony, why can't you try and see it from my point of view?"

                "Don't fucking start on him, Harry, Remus has done a fucking lot for you."

                "I know, and I appreciate it, but I don't appreciate you taking Draco's side over mine!"

                "We're not taking anyone's side…"

                "Well maybe you should be! Maybe you should be taking mine for a change and telling him to keep his bloody nose out!"

                "Friends look after each other, don't they?" Draco asked icily.

                "Not in your case. You look after yourself and don't give a toss who you hurt in the meantime!"

                Draco scooped up his teacup and saucer and threw it at Harry as hard as he could, spilling warm tea all over him and shattering the crockery on the floor. "It is at times like this that I thoroughly despise you, Potter. I'm so selfish I gave up my family, my life and my social status for you – to make sure _you_ have a life to keep living. Brand me with the Dark Mark right now, why don't you – I'm obviously that evil."

                Remus gave a sigh and silently set about clearing up the mess, only to be stopped by Sirius, who advised him to wait unless there was more to come.

                "You were going to die anyway. You only came to me because you had no one else who would believe you after the way you've spent your life ruining other people's!"

                "At least I know what I WANT from my life!" Draco yelled back at him, his fists clenched at his sides. "At least I KNOW that I'm in love and who I'm in love with! At least I can tell what love is, Harry – and from what I hear you're having problems in that area, aren't you? I wonder what Cross would say to find out that the boyfriend who doesn't love him keeps on trying to kiss the 'spoilt brat' he's so scared of!"

                Remus looked ready to jump between them if fists started flying, but he didn't need to. Harry stood stone still and stared at the other boy in shock.

                "You wouldn't dare…"

                "Slytherin, you fool! Of course I'd dare!"

                "You wicked, petty, _mean_ little bastard!"

                "Why don't you add selfish, inconsiderate, deceitful…? At least we'd have something in common, then!"

                "How can _you_ call me that? I've been your friend ever since I found out about your father and Voldemort! You've been a bastard to me for as long as I've known you and as soon as you decide to tell me that everything is fine and you want to be friends I have to drop everything! And I did! I put it all behind me and tried to bloody hard to be your mate, but this I am not giving up. No way. Not even for you."

                "HE-IS-USING-YOU!"

                "IF THIS WAS ABOUT QUIDDITCH HE WOULD HAVE DUMPED ME AGES AGO, FOR GOD'S SAKE!" Harry bellowed. "Or is he using me for something else, now? Is that it, eh? So what is it now, Draco? What do you think he's using me for now?"

                Draco shook his head in disgusted disbelief and sneered, "What do you think?"

                "I think you're sick, that's what I think. And you really don't listen, do you? I told you that _I_ was the one who wanted it, not Gavin, and do you know what? I felt so bad about you being down here and knowing how you feel that I couldn't even enjoy it! So do you know what I did –? "

                "Harry – " Remus began warningly, half-covering his face with his hand while Sirius clamped both hands over his ears and hummed loudly.

                "- I made sure _he_ came, even though I didn't!"

                Sirius hummed even louder.

                Draco shook his head at him disdainfully, "So he can't even do his job properly…"

                "Well having images of you running through my mind was pretty effective as turning me _right off_."

                "Harry, for goodness sake, please stop!"

                "Don't worry about it, I'm leaving," Draco said, backing away towards the door. He stared at Harry for a long moment before hissing, "I really _wish_ I could hate you…" And then he was gone.

~*~

Three weeks without speaking to Draco were some of the most difficult Harry could remember. After a few days the anger at the things he had said dissipated and all Harry was left with was a dull ache for their conversations and some very, very bruised pride. Draco was an obnoxious little brat at times, but he cared about Harry, and Harry knew that. Harry _treasured_ that, because as far as he was concerned, few people genuinely did. He had turned up for their meeting on the second week after the fight, and Draco hadn't; he hadn't shown the next week either. It was down-right miserable.

                Gavin knew that Harry and Draco had fallen out, and while he hadn't done a particularly skilful job of hiding his pleasure in the fact, at least he had had the common decency to try. He had wrapped Harry in an abundance of loving cuddles and done everything in his power to cheer him up; most of the time his ideas were nice, but didn't work, or Harry simply wasn't in the mood at all. Harry barely noticed as the older boy became less and less buoyant each time they saw each other, until, as they approached the weekend of the Gryffindor-Slytherin game, he seemed down-right miserable, too. He had even offered to try and speak to Draco himself, but Harry had refused, insisting that he didn't understand Draco well enough to bother.

                The day of the match came, and Harry spent two hours beforehand trying to be angry enough with Draco that it would make him more aggressive and hopefully contribute something to their play. All it did was give him a headache. 

Gavin waited by the changing rooms for him before the game, dragging him around the back to wish him luck and cast an Unbreakable charm on his glasses for him. Harry managed to smile at him as he kissed him gently on the forehead and told him he'd be watching from the Ravenclaw stand. "I love you," he whispered, the tiny inflection of hope that had been detectable in his words a couple of weeks previously somewhat dulled with resignation. "Now go an' show them Slytherin cheats 'ow good y' are, a'right?"

Harry nodded and turned away, allowing his fingers to trail gently out of the other boy's hand. He missed the miserable sigh Gavin gave as he watched him go.

"You alright, Harry?" Ron asked as they stood at the entrance to the pitch, waiting to be called out. He knew that Harry and Draco weren't talking and couldn't fail to see how miserable Harry had been for the past few weeks. He didn't like to admit it, but he was starting to wish they'd just make up so everything could go back to normal – or as normal as it had been that year.         

"I'm fine, Ron. Just concentrate on the game."

"I will…" Ron replied, hesitating as Harry strode out onto the Quidditch pitch. "Just hope you can an' all."

Harry strode up to face the Slytherin, trying very hard to appear unperturbed by the other boy's look of loathing. After Madam Hooch read out the mandatory rules she ordered them to shake hands. With a sneer of distaste, Draco said "No."

"Mr Malfoy, you will observe the match rules," she insisted, clearly thinking that this was just another show of bravado from the school's biggest rivals.

"I will not."

"Just shut up and shake my hand, you prat," Harry growled, holding it out rigidly for him to take.

Draco narrowed his eyes and hissed, "I know where it's been."

"_Don't_ start, Malfoy."

"Gentlemen! You will shake hands according to rules or you will forfeit the game."

"I'm willing to shake hands, Madam Hooch – it's Malfoy who won't."

Draco gave an ugly leer of anger and touched Harry's hand so briefly it was almost a slap.

Madam Hooch tutted at them in disapproval and stepped back to blow her whistle. "Mount your brooms!"

Immediately, all fourteen players raced to their positions and waited for the balls to be released. The moment they were both of the Weasley twins buzzed Harry, saying, "Don't worry, mate-"

"-we'll keep our eye on him!"

"Leave him alone! Concentrate on the game!" Harry yelled after them, swooping to the right to follow the blond boy as he darted off towards the Gryffindor stand. He wasn't going to let the other boy reach the Snitch first, not today. He was far too annoyed. He'd spent so much time wishing he could apologise for the things he had said – even if he had half meant them – and now the other boy was being as petty as he possibly could. After the game he'd try to talk to him, sort this out once and for all, because he really didn't want them to go back to the way things used to be. He enjoyed Draco's company far too much.

Draco was swooping around the pitch as fast as he could, frantically trying to vent some anger before he caught sight of the Snitch. It was all well and good to have some aggression in your play, but at present he was almost shaking with rage and it wouldn't help his hand-eye co-ordination at all. _Hate him hate him hate him! Stupid Gryffindork. Stupid prat. Why can't he just leave me alone?_ The truth of the matter was that Draco's anger with Harry wasn't quite enough to suppress how much he missed him. He wanted it all to never have happened, to never have been there when Harry had brought the stupid Yeti home with him. How could he have been so inconsiderate? Harry's feeble tales about feeling too guilty to do anything didn't help. While they gave him the tiniest sliver of hope that Harry was starting to feel the same way, he had been too hurt by the other things he had said to really accept it. People didn't say things like that to people they cared about.

Harry watched at Draco spiralled higher and higher. In an instant he decided to catch up with him – it wouldn't be hard on his Firebolt – and to use the time to try and apologise. He wasn't going to be able to concentrate on the game like this anyway. He leaned forward and picked up his pace, arcing up steeply to meet with the other boy at the centre of the spiral. As Draco neared him his eyes narrowed and he tugged him broom into a vertical position so it stalled and free-fell towards the ground, spinning rapidly. He pulled out of the descent barely a meter from the grass and darted off towards the Slytherin goal posts. "Was that supposed to be a hint?" Harry muttered to himself, oblivious to the gasps of the crowd at the other boy's death-defying plunge. "Well you're not getting rid of me that easily…"

In the stands, Hermione and Ginny stood next to Hagrid, who was watching the game with a huge pair of omnioculars. "What on bleedin' Earth are they playin' at?" he muttered, lowering them to look at Hermione and gesture wildly as Harry circled the Slytherin posts in hot pursuit of their captain. "Not payin' the blindest bit of attention, neither of 'em!"

Hermione frowned at the spectacle before her, "I think I know what he's doing – and he'd being terribly silly about it," she said, frowning.

"Well it ain't right," Hagrid said, putting his omnioculars back up to his face. "I'd hate teh see what Sirius Black's gonna say about it…"

In the teachers' stand, Sirius Black's lips were pressed more tightly together than McGonnagal's and he was muttering darkly in his head about there being time and place for things like this.

Harry sped past George Weasley who yelled, "CALM DOWN!" at him and swung his bat at a bludger without even looking. It whooshed across the pitch and narrowly missed one of the Slytherin chasers.

"And it's sixty-twenty to Gryffindor! The quaffle is back in play and it's Montague – Higgs – back to Montague – Oh! Nice play by the only Gryffindor female, there!"

Draco took a few sharp turns, still trying to shake the Gryffindor from his tail. _Just–take-the-hint! He_ swerved on every word, weaving between other players and finally thinking that he had seen a glimpse of gold near the Gryffindors' top hoop. He launched himself forward, travelling so fast his broom began to shudder slightly. Behind him, Harry also put on a spurt of acceleration, until he over-took the other boy and rounded on him, totally ignorant to the Snitch a few feet below. Draco dropped sharply, reaching out with his left hand, but he wasn't aiming for the tiny fluttering ball. He had seen something Harry had missed, and as the bludger hit the side of Weasley's head, he was already ten feet below, twisting sharply away from the fluttering golden ball so easily within reach and grasping for the boy's robes as he tumbled fifty feet towards the ground. He heard a sickening click as his shoulder was wrenched from its socket, and felt the shooting pains in his fingers as two of his finger nails were torn back from the skin and his littlest finger snapped. But he had a hold of him for the few precious seconds it took for the boy's twin brothers to grab him in and help lower him to the ground, completely unconscious.

As they touched down in the sand around the goal hoops, Draco's hearing suddenly seemed to return, and time returned to its normal pace; he hadn't even been aware of the change until that moment. There were yells and screams from the stands, a great flurry of people were racing towards them, and with a heavy, graceless thump, Harry staggered back to the ground, nearly crashing his broom in his hurry. He didn't have time to reach his friend before he was surrounded by teachers and Madam Pomfrey, who insisted that everyone be held back. Instead, Harry stared, his face blank in shock. Draco found himself collapsing onto the grass, sitting cross-legged and holding his arm to his chest as he watched the blood seeping from his damaged nails.

Harry didn't know what to do. He stood there, dumbstruck, as people fussed over Ron, trying to help him. He saw Hermione and Ginny sprinting towards him, but Hermione didn't stop; instead she skidded onto the floor and flung her arms around Draco, sobbing "Thank you! Thank you!" He pushed her away wincing and telling her to get off of him, half-heartedly. Ginny, on the other hand, flung her arms around Harry. She, too, was sobbing, but he barely noticed; almost automatically, he reached and arm up to hug her, and to his surprise, saw that he had the Snitch clasped tightly in his fingers. He had completely forgotten catching it.

A few meters away, he could see the rest of the Slytherin team huddled together, their faces livid. They were all staring at Draco murderously. He had just lost them the game – for a Weasley. All at once, Harry realised what the other boy had done and untangling himself from Ginny, moved over to where he sat, still shaken, next to a distraught Hermione.

"Drac?" he said, his voice strained and raspy.

The blond boy glanced at him, then continued to stare at his mangled hand.

"Bloody hell! Draco, you're really hurt!" Harry cried, kneeling down beside him and trying to pull the hand away from his chest to look at it.

"Ow! Don't!" he hissed, pulling it back and closing his eyes tightly against the pain.

"Sorry! God, Draco, you have to see Madam Pomfrey – look at your finger! It's broken!"

"My shoulder is dislocated, too, but Weasley is unconscious and they have more important things to deal with," he said emotionlessly. "I'm just a Slytherin, anyway."

"No you're not," François Zabini sneered contemptuously as he and Terrence Higgs loomed over them. Zabini looked down at Draco in disgust, "We don't have blood-traitors in our House," he said before spitting in his face. They turned and walked away, the rest of the house following. Harry began to scramble to his feet furiously, not certain what he intended to do, but certain that it was going to hurt them, only to have a thin hand with an unnaturally tight grip clasp onto his robes and pull him back to the ground.

"No."

Draco stared after them silently, his expression completely unreadable. Harry acquiesced and pulled down his sleeve to wipe the spit from the other boy's face with it; Draco didn't protest, but sat with his eyes downcast. "Ignore them," Harry told him, rubbing his sleeve against his hip and grimacing. "And thank you," he added, finally catching the other boy's eye, "I can't tell you how grateful I am…"

A few meters away, Gavin turned on his heel without so much as checking his pace and headed back to the castle. For a moment, Wood frowned and looked around for what he had seen, gave a sigh and followed, shaking his head.

~*~

Harry and the others had been told to wait outside for news about Ron, but Harry had taken advantage of the fact that Madam Pomfrey's dithering assistant, Marmaduke, had been distracted and had obtained permission to sit with Draco until he was seen to. The blond boy was alone, sitting on a crisply made bed at the far end of the ward. He was deathly pale and his arm, still held across his chest, almost seemed defensive. Someone had clearly given him a bundle of tissue paper to manage the blood still oozing from the tips of his fingers, and he held it around the hand as it rested on his chest, near enough to his shoulder for him to be resting the side of his chin upon it.

He stared into the middle distance with wide-pupiled eyes and didn't seem to notice as Harry walked over and stopped at the side of the bed.

                "Are you alright?" he asked, knowing it was a stupid question, but not knowing what else to say.

                "I sincerely hope I didn't tear my arm to pieces for nothing," he replied flatly, without so much as a blink.

"Have you been given anything? Painkillers or… I dunno… _something_?"

                Draco shook his head slightly.

                "But - why? Didn't you ask?"

                "No."

                "But-" 

                "Leave it, Harry."

                They remained in silence for a few minutes, watching as people bustled around Ron at the other end of the ward, until Madam Pomfrey saw them watching and drew the curtains roughly.

                "Drac," Harry began, quietly, easing himself onto the bed facing him, "I wanted to say thanks… I know you hate Ron and everything, but… that makes what you did even more important. He… well, he could have died and I… Well, it's obvious that I can't accept that as a win. As soon as Ron's okay again we'll have to have a re-match."

                Draco continued to stare at the wall, but said, "No, the game stands," his voice monotone and oddly tinny. He looked pale and tense and Harry hadn't the faintest idea what to do or say to him.

                "But… I shouldn't have won that – "

                "If we play again it is nothing to do with me. I am no longer a part of the team; that is obvious."

                "You're going to leave?"

                "I don't have a choice. You saw what they did, Harry. You can't honestly think they mean for me to stay on the team – much less be captain?"

                Harry ruffled a hand through his hair, frowning, "Well… no, but… can they do that?"

                "I couldn't care less," Draco said tiredly. "I never really liked Quidditch much anyway. I only played it because of you. I can still fly without risking my own neck against those horrendous bludgers."

                Hesitantly, Harry reached out and squeezed the shoulder that wasn't hurt. "You're being really brave about this; braver than I could be," he said.

                Draco gave a snort of laughter and shook his head; "Stop calling me a Gryffindor."

                "It's not an insult!"

                "It is when I have just been excommunicated from my own house!"

                "I – but – I'm sorry… You _were_ brave, though – you're still being brave! You must be in agony and yet – "

                "Mind your own business," Draco snapped, leaning back against the bed and knocking his left elbow on the edge of the bedside cabinet. He didn't even wince. "As far as I'm concerned, bravery is but another word for gallant stupidity. It is not a trait I would be proud of."

                "Draco, you did a good thing – "

                "I did a foolish thing. I nearly caused myself to be killed, now I probably will be – only this will not be an accident."

                Harry stared at him for a moment, then glanced over his shoulder to check the others were still busy with Ron before whispering, "Don't say that! He won't – I mean… they wouldn't let him, would they? Dumbledore wouldn't allow him to do anything to you? You'll have to stay here for Christmas – you could stay with us! I can tell Gavin that I can't go to Wales and you can stay with us!"

                "Do you really think he would allow it? Of course he wouldn't! He will have heard a full report of what happened by tomorrow morning, and then all of this will come down on my head."

                "Then we'll talk to Dumbledore! There has to be something we can do, Draco – we can't just let him take you home and… and God knows what happen to you!"

                "What difference does it make? It isn't as if you care."

                Harry gaped at him in disbelief. "How can you think that?" he hissed anxiously. "The last couple of weeks have been horrible! If I didn't care I wouldn't have been so unhappy, would I?"

                For a moment, Draco said nothing, then he carefully told him, "You should have thought of that earlier."

                "I didn't think of it because I didn't want it to happen!"

                "Well just remember, Harry, that while you were indulging in whatever it is you two do when you're together, I had no one."

                "You've got _me_!"

                "Will you keep your voice down?"

                "I'm sorry, it's just – "

                "If all you plan to do is make things harder for me by saying stupid things like that, you can just leave me alone right now."

                "Draco, stop keep pushing me away! I know that you need me and I want to be there for you, so just swallow your pride and let me, alright?"

                "No."

                "Listen to me; I'm sorry for what I said and I'm sorry if I hurt you. You _must_ know that I'd never do that deliberately. You must do…" Harry said, grabbing his wrist and squeezing gently.

                "You're incredibly lucky that that is my right arm."

                "I know which arm it is. Now listen, I really want us to be mates again, Drac – "

                "Drac-_o_."

`               "Oh, shut up! I have totally hated the last few weeks and I'm not going to allow it to happen again, so you're going to forgive me now or you're going to tell me what I have to do to make you forgive me."

                Draco closed his eyes and gave a tiny sigh, "I've already forgiven you," he said. "But I am _sick_ of being forced to watch you with him, Harry. I'm sick of seeing it, I'm sick of hearing about it, and I'm sick of feeling sick every time I think of you with him."

                "Well I'm sorry, but he's my boyfriend. I'll try not to throw it in your face – and I never do it on purpose – but I'm not going to stop seeing him just to please you. No matter how much I care about you – and I do – I can't let it rule everything else."

                "Don't sugar coat the pill, will you, Harry?"

                "No, I won't, because it confuses the issue. You're an amazing person – just what you did today proves that – but then so is Hermione and I wouldn't want to go out with her, either."

                "She's a girl. Just."

                "Well, alright, that doesn't help her cause much, either, but y'know..? You see the point I'm making?"

                "As clear as mud."

                "Draco…"

                "Alright! You're saying you want to be my friend and nothing more, which I already know."

                "And I'm sorry if the other night was… was _difficult_… There was just something weird about that night -  it was the moon, it just..." Harry trailed off, lacking the words to describe what he had seen as he and the blond boy lay side-by-side on his bedroom floor.

                "Oh wonderful, you're a werewhore."

                "Shut _up_, Draco!" Harry said, thumping his arm playfully and trying to hide a grin. "Really, do. I'm trying to be serious…"

                "I'm listening…"

                "Well…" he glanced around at the drawn curtains or the other bed and briefly wondered if Ron was alright; "The thing is, I'm really, really fond of you… and I mean – you're not exactly ugly, are you? But I just… I've got to do what is best for me. And regardless of what you think, at the moment what's best for me is having you as one of my best friends, and Gavin as my boyfriend. And he _does_ care about me, Drac, he really, really does. He even offered to come and talk to you about us being friends again, last week. And he meant it."

                "So why didn't he?"

                "Because I told him it'd be pointless because he wouldn't understand you."

                "Meaning?"

                "Meaning he's no use to anyone as a big pile of ash."

                "Obviously."

                "He's not a bad person, Draco. I know you're biased and everything and I know that he did something really stupid on Halloween, but he's made up for it, now. I've forgiven him, and I wish you would, too."

                "It isn't that easy. I don't like him, and I do think he has ulterior motives, but mainly I need something to be angry about with him, don't you realise that? I'm…_jealous_ of him. Really jealous. I want him to wither and die so he's out of the way and leaves you for me…"

                "Who says – "

                "Oh shush and allow an injured man something to cling on to!"

                "Sorry…"

                The blond boy hesitated for a moment before asking, "Be honest with me, Harry – do you love him?"

                "Um… well, I don't know…" Harry blushed. "I care about him a lot – a hell of a lot… but then… I care about you a lot, too… And it's different… but in some ways it's the same. And you're my friend… So I just really don't know. Do you think it's possible to love someone without being in love with them, but it still be different to your mates?"

                "How should I know?" Draco replied, "And you may want to change the subject while you're still forgiven."

                "Sorry…"

                "Don't be sorry, just be quiet."

                At that moment, Madam Pomfrey bustled over and said, "You'll have to be away now, young man. I have to see to my patient and I can't do that with you hovering."

                Harry slid off the bed, "Can I go and see Ron for a while? For a few minutes, even?" he asked hopefully.

                "I'd rather not."

                "Oh please, Madam Pomfrey! Think of all the times Ron has been in here with me in the past – it wouldn't be fair for me to go without seeing him."

                Madam Pomfrey stood, scrutinising him with her hands on her hips for a moment. "Oh alright," she said, eventually, as Draco circled his little finger with his index, behind her back, "but just for a few minutes. And there won't be much to see, mind. He's out for the count; for a few hours, at least."

~*~

Remus left the cottage with the intention of returning some books to the library. He had been giving himself what he feared would be a head start on his soon-to-be-delegated role within the Order, and had borrowed as many books as Madam Pince had allowed from her precious shelves. He had finished at least three-quarters, but knew, deep down, that this was only the first batch. The white picket gate clunked shut behind him as he made his way across the lawns, now strewn with the brittle leaves from the trees behind the house. The winter always made the Forbidden Forest look more sinister, its trees looking like monsters with long, pointing fingers waiting to reach out and curl around anyone who would venture close enough, but now, on the brink of war, is was more dangerous than a mine field.

                Distantly, he heard a heavy splosh and glanced towards the lake, expecting to see the tips of eight large tentacles floating upon the surface. Instead, he saw a figure, stooping to pick up another rock and hurling it with all his force as far into the water as he could manage. His first thought was, _James used to do that_; his second, _Wait a minute, what's Gavin doing out here? I thought Harry had a game today…_ For a moment, he hesitated, then turned from the path slowly being eroded into the lawn where they passed to and from the school each day, and headed towards the lake.

                "You'll upset the squid like that," he said lightly, when he was just a few feet away from the boy. The boy merely shrugged and picked up another stone. "I would ask if you're alright, but I suspect that would be a rather redundant question at the moment; so I will ask what's wrong."

                The dark-haired boy weighed the stone in his hand for a moment, his head slightly lowered, then pelted it into the water a fair fifty yards away. "Nothin'," he said sullenly.

                "Well, you are by no means obliged to tell me, but I know that what they say about a problem shared being a problem halved is true, most of the time."

                Gavin stopped in a crouching position, one hand trailing the floor limply, and turned to look over his shoulder at him. "I don' think tha' you'd be so int'rested if you knew," he said, before looking around and picking up another stone, which he again threw harshly into the water.

                "Why don't you try me?" Remus challenged, settling down on the boulder where Lily used to perch and read, clutching his own six tomes.

                "I don' think you'd wanna hear it."

                "Am I right in suspecting that it's something to do with Harry?"

                The boy nodded, stopping for a moment as his shoulders heaved in a heavy sigh.

                "What has he done?"

                A shrug as he studied the rock in his hand, smoothing his thumb across it and rubbing off the dirt with unwarranted concentration.

                "Gavin?"

                "I love 'im, y'know…"

                Remus's heart skipped a beat. Hearing it from Harry was one thing – hearing the boy say it himself was quite another. "Harry said as much," he forced himself to say, without implication.

                "Don' s'pose I outta be telling you that, but… I don' reckon it matters t'im anyway."

                "Why not?"

                "S'not as if 'e feels the same, or anythin'…" There was a pause as the Ravenclaw gave the stone one last rub and skimmed it nine hops across the surface. "Not for me, any rate."

                "Forgive me if I sound a little patronising, I know how unpleasant do-gooders' advice can be when you don't want to hear it, but you have to remember that Harry is more than a year younger than you. He has no idea what he feels, least of all towards the people closest to him."

                "I' been startin' t'notice," the boy said, his shoulders slumped and his head hung in such a way that his face was hidden behind the thick, dark locks of hair. "I noticed 'ow much people do mean t'im, though, too."

                Remus was in no doubt that he knew precisely whom the boy was referring to; who else could it be than Draco, the determined, petulant and deceptively fragile creature that had so recently become to represent a dawn of change for all of them? And what grounds did Remus have for reassuring the boy when he was almost certain that his suspicions had firm foundation? He wracked his brain for some words of wisdom, of the variety that he had once offered James in times of Lily Crisis, and found none.

                "I 'oped 'e'd come an' stay at my house fer a day or two," the boy said pensively, when Remus didn't speak. "I wan'ed my parents t' meet 'im. Don' see the point any more…"

                "Gavin, may I ask – have I missed something? I don't understand quite what has happened."

                "Same as always," Gavin mumbled, sitting down on one of the small hillocks of grass at the very edge of the lake. "'Arry can' keep 'imself away from Draco-soddin'-Malfoy."

                "When? During the game?"

                "After. Didn' you go?"

                "No, I had work to do. I've seen Harry fly before, and it at least gives Sirius something to tell me about when he gets back from the game if I don't go."

                "Well, Ron Weasley were knocked out by a bludger and sorta landed on Malfoy, who 'elped get 'im down. Harry didn't see an' caught the snitch and then 'e were sittin' there wi' Malfoy, wipin' 'is face with 'is robes and actin' like the Sun shines outta 'is ar-- _backside_."

                Remus thought for a moment, before offering, "Harry's a sensitive soul. What Draco did is commendable and I'm sure that his gratitude would have out-weighed all else at that point."

                "S' no' that. I know it ain't. D' you know they stopp'd talkin' an that?"

                "I did. And I know that the reason they stopped talking was an argument about you."

                Gavin stared at him blankly for a few seconds, the asked, "Was it?"

                "Both Sirius and I witnessed the entire episode."

                "I'll bet Sirius is even more out fer my blood now, innee?"

                "Why would he be out for your blood?"

                "I don' think 'e likes me. In fact, I reckon 'e 'ates me."

                "No, don't be silly. Sirius doesn't hate you; Sirius is like that with everyone."

                "Not in my classes, 'e's not. But I don' even care abou' that. I jus' wish 'Arry'd make up 'is mind," the boy sighed. "Jus' scared o'what 'e'll say, tha's all…"

                Remus stood up, leaving his books stacked on top of the boulder, and sat down beside the young Welshman. "Gavin, as Harry's guardian I like to think I know him fairly well, and I know that for a fifteen year-old boy he can be in extremes either very precocious or very naïve. We all need to remember, sometimes, that he has had a very unpleasant and unhappy childhood. The sense most of us would make of certain relationships do not quite occur to him as they ordinarily would to someone else."

                "I know that – 'e told me all about his aunt an' uncle and what complete bas- I mean _bullies_ they were-"

                "Then be patient with him. Draco and Harry are good friends, I know that you're aware of that, and for the time being Draco needs as many friends as he can find. It is not going to be an easy few months, possibly even years, and I would not like to see the boy left alone. I know first-hand how little he and Harry have seen of each other recently, because Draco has been spending more time at the cottage with me than Sirius has, and he lives there."

                Gavin pulled at blades of slightly muddy grass between his arched knees, "So it's clear tha' you an' Malfoy are pretty frien'ly…"

                "He comes to me because he has no one else. I'm sure that if he had the opportunity to make more friends he would take it."

                "I jus' 'ope 'e doesn' take 'Arry an' all."

                "Harry isn't a prize to be won or an object to be stolen; he'll go where he feels most happy."

                "Well – no, I know… S'not what I meant. 'Arry's worth more than that."

                "I'm glad you agree. And frankly, I think a change of scenery would do him good."

                The Ravenclaw looked up at him suddenly, his cheeks pink and his eyes wide. "Really?"

                "Yes, and I know that the environment may not be completely neutral of the current situation, but perhaps the offer still stands of a brief trip down to the Rhondda Valley in a few weeks' time?"

                "Yes! Yeah, o' course it stands!" the boy said immediately, his round brown eyes lighting up with delight, which suddenly dimmed as he looked away and said, "If 'Arry still wants to, that is…"

                "I think he will," Remus smiled reassuringly, "even if it is just because he has his mother's stubbornness."

                "Won' Sirius mind? Technic'ly 'e's 'Arry's guardian, innee?"

                "I'll tell you a secret," he told him confidentially, "Sirius may _think_ he wears the trousers in our household, but _I _make the rules."

~*~

When Harry went to visit Ron while Hermione was at classes the next day, he found him propped up on a ridiculous quantity of pillows. His face was still a nasty purple on one side and his freckles clashed horribly with the marks where they spread out into paler skin. His eyes were closed and Harry thought he might have been sleeping, but he crept nearer, intent on reassuring himself that the other boy was still breathing.

                "About bloody time."

                Harry nearly jumped out of his skin as the other boy's voice croaked out to him. "Ron! You're awake!" he grinned, hurrying the rest of the distance. He patted him on the shoulder amiably and said, "You're looking crap."

                "I know, Marmaduke showed me. Bloody nutcase."

                "Everyone's been fussing, you know. All the girls are running around in huddles going 'Ooooh, poor Ronniekins! He's so bwave!'" Harry teased, reaching in his pocket and pulling out three Chocolate Frogs. "I suppose we're getting a bit old for these, really, but here – these are for you."

                "Old? Piss off! These things are an institution. No one's _ever_ too old for Chocolate Frogs, and don't you bloody forget it!"

                "Alright," Harry chuckled, climbing up to sit on the bed.

                "Thanks, though," Ron lisped, and Harry realised that one of his top teeth on the left hand side was broken. "Makes a change, doesn't it? You bringing me get well sweets?"

                "Yeah, I suppose it does. I'll try not to get almost-killed this year, so then you won't have to anyway."

                "Good idea."

                "Good job Draco caught you or you could've been the second dead one in your family!"

                Ron stared at him, and for a few instants it looked as though even his bruises had paled. "What?"

                "What?" Harry echoed, his mirth subsiding somewhat. "I mean – Draco caught you. You knew that didn't you? Didn't someone tell you?"

                Ron swallowed and pulled at his sheets, "You said… You were talking about Archie…"

                _Oh Harry, you stupid, stupid git! What the Hell were you saying? _"Ron," Harry began apologetically, "God, Ron, I'm sorry – I didn't think…"

                There were several drawn out moments of awkward silence, in which the soft squeaking of trolley wheels could be heard across the ward, soon followed by the indignant tones of Draco's protesting voice.

"I forgot…" Ron mumbled, trailing off. "I never told you who he was, did I?"

                "No, but… well, Hermione told me. Straight after it happened. You know – that morning after McGonnagal took you all… She thought that Percy might be – might be… hurt.  I don't think she'd have said if-"

                "It's alright, Harry," the ginger boy told him quietly. "I should've bloody told you myself…"

                "No, look, Ron – you really don't have to explain – "

                "No one speaks about it at home," the other boy said, staring intently at his fingers as they worried a crease in the bed linen, "so we don't at school, either. He killed himself in our barn… that's why we don't play in it any more. It used to be really good for hide-and-seek when we were really little, but then mum and dad stopped us playing there. They said it was disrespectful, and that."

                "Why did he do it?" Harry asked carefully, looking at his friend, but trying to attain the near impossible balance between politeness and patronisation.

                "I know, but I don't, if you see what I mean. I know what the letter said… well, what the _card_ said… It was Christmas…" Ron told him, a small shake starting in his voice. 

                _Christmas?_ Something about this story was starting to sound oddly familiar to Harry.

                "It said that he didn't want to come back to a place where everyone hated him… and to remember him like he used to be."

                Harry felt his stomach plummet. _No – no it couldn't be… It just couldn't…_

                "Ginny and me never remembered him that well. He was our big brother, y'know? I think because we grew up with the others Archie was sort of… we sort of hero-ized him. He was clever like Percy and kind like Charlie and I think Fred and George have his sense of humour or something, because I remember him putting whoopee cushions on mum's chair in the morning to make us laugh…" He paused to take a deep breath and give a distant smile, then said, "Mum and Dad – especially mum – kind of blame themselves for it. They reckon they should have noticed how unhappy he was or something. They don't ever talk about him in front of us, but… I've heard mum crying sometimes. On his birthday and Christmas and things. It's horrible. We don't talk about him at home because it upsets her and we don't talk about it at school because we might accidentally say something when we go home, and I don't think people would… Well, they wouldn't be very nice if they remembered him."

                "Because he was like me?"  Harry offered, a lump in his own throat threatening to choke him.

                Ron stared at him for a minute, before looking down and nodding.

                "I didn't realise," Harry said, rubbing his hand through his hair. "When I started going out with Gavin he told me about some guy who'd been so badly bullied that he… well… It must've been Archie. I'm sorry Ron. I can't believe I said something that stupid…"

                "It's alright," Ron told him with a forlorn chuckle, "I say more stupid stuff than you do, anyway."

                "Ron?"

                "Yeah?"

                "Is Archie the reason you thought… y'know – when we were up in the dorm that time and you asked me if you could be… Like me…"

                The ginger boy shrugged half-heartedly, "I suppose so…"

                "God, Ron… I'm so sorry… You've got such a brilliant family – you don't deserve stuff like that to happen to you."

                "No one does, do they?"

                Harry gave a sigh, "No," he said, shaking his head, "No one does."

                There was a lull in the conversation; Harry didn't know what to say next – it seemed flippant to change the subject, but he didn't want Ron to sit and dwell on it and get all miserable because of him. He was deeply relieved when Ron spoke himself. 

                "So – what's all this I hear about _Malfoy_ saving me?"

                "Oh! He caught you!" Harry gushed immediately, "I barely saw it, but he just dived for you! He's over there – " he gestured to the other side curtain screen " – because he mangled his hand up so badly. There was blood everywhere."

                Ron stared at him with raised eyebrows for a minute, "Malfoy. Saved _me_. At cost to himself?"

                "Yeah! And he's been kicked off the team and stuff – he was amazing, though! You could've died if it wasn't for him."

                "You're completely taking the piss."

                "I'm completely telling the truth!"

                "Bloody hell…"

                "I know! I told you he was alright!" Harry said, proudly.

                "Are you sure it wasn't an accident?"

                "Absolutely sure. He dived about ten or fifteen feet away from the snitch – downwards, so he couldn't even have been aiming for it!"

                "So what, you expect me to be his best mate, now?"

                "Well, no – but that's a life debt – you could at least start by being civil…"

                "I have been civil. Haven't punched him in ages, have I? And maybe this is some kind of masterplan," Ron suggested facetiously, "maybe he wants the entire planet to have a life debt owed to him so that they have to do whatever he wants!"

                "Don't be a prat."

                "Well he could," Ron insisted, flopping back and folding his arms across his chest.

                "'Well he could' what?" the Slytherin's voice demanded as he yanked back the curtains and sauntered in.

                "Ron reckons you have a masterplan to take over the world with life debts," Harry grinned.

                "Oh really – how juvenile!" Draco tutted. "Why would I need life debts when I have my charm and good looks?"

                "Because not everyone's blind and gullible?" Ron offered, scowling. "Bugger off."

                "Now that's not a very good start if you're trying to be civil, is it, Weasley? You could at least have managed 'Bugger off, _please_'."

                "Oh shut up, both of you!" Harry laughed, pulling him closer and wrapping both arms around him from the side so that he couldn't possibly launch a barrage of curses at the other boy.

                "Oh my _God_! Harry, get off him!" Ron ordered, grimacing, "That's horrible! You just _hugged_ Malfoy! I'm sick enough already! Don't make me puke up, too!"

                "Stop your whinging this instant, Weasley, you wouldn't be around to revolt at all if it wasn't for me."

                "Yeah, yeah, so I'm told. What do you want – a slave for a day? Your homework done by my girlfriend? My best mate's hand in marriage?"

                "All of the above?" Harry grinned, pushing his glasses up his nose.

                "Yes, I think I'll take all of the above. Thank you, Harry. Will you be wearing white or has Cross already ensured that would be too hypocritical?"

                "Oh, shut up."

                "Yeah, shut up, you perv – what Harry does or doesn't do is none of your business."

                "No, and of course, I'm not going out with the school's 'thinking man's totty', am I? So named because you can only face it if you're _thinking_ of someone else."

                "You bitchy little git!" Harry gasped and yanked him onto the bed across Ron's legs. "Ron – give me a pillow!"

                All three boys froze at the sharp, serpentine hiss of metal curtain hooks curtains being thrown back. Before them, decked head-to-toed in black fur robes, was Lucius Malfoy. He stared down upon the scene with distaste, freezing grey eyes burning into each and every one of them, while remaining fixed on Draco's inelegantly sprawled form.

                "Get _up_," he hissed through gritted teeth; and Draco did so instantly. "Anyone would think you were as common as a Weasley. How you can bear to allow yourself so close to one I will _never_ comprehend."

                "What are you doing here?" Harry demanded coldly. This was the first time he had seen the man since the cemetery where Voldemort had tried to kill him. He was even surer now, that the voice from beneath the hood had been his. "The wards around this school should keep _warlocks_ like you away from here."

                Lucius Malfoy stepped forward, shoving Draco behind him impatiently, where he shook his head at Harry frantically, as if imploring him to be quiet. "I have come to collect my son, who was so tragically _injured_ during a sports game. _You_ would be well advised, Mr Potter, to take care of precisely what it is you accuse people of; false accusations can be so very damaging in the wrong hands."

                "I'm not scared of you. I know what you are and I'm going to make sure that everyone else does, too. You'll be finished long before this war," Harry told him through tightened lips.

                "Really?" the elder Malfoy smirked, looking frighteningly like his son, "Then I will take you with me. Draco, we are leaving."

                Harry barely caught a glimpse of Draco's face as his father grasped him by the collar and thrust him towards the door. It was all he needed to know that he was terrified.


	13. Chapter XII:i Dance into the Fire

**Chapter ~ XII:i**

**Dance into the Fire**

_"In hope and desperation I find my only light…"Funeral for a Friend_

Harry chewed his nails as Sirius paced the room in front of him. Dumbledore steepled his fingers at the large wooden desk and Fawkes sat on his perch, observing the scene with a peculiar knowingness.

            "Where the fuck is he?" Sirius growled, stopping in his pacing and then striding towards the door, only to turn on his heel again and punch both fists into the air in frustration.

            "I assume from your tone that you refer to me?" Snape sneered, appearing in the room immediately behind him, his lips thinner than McGonagall's. 

            Remus slipped in behind him and closed the door. "Perhaps we should save the fighting until later," he said, casting Sirius a significant look and moving over to stand next to Harry. "Are you alright," he whispered, placing a hand on his shoulder.

            Harry shook his head, worriedly. "He's going to kill him, Moony," he said, clasping onto his godfather's sleeve with a jittery desperation, "I know he will. He's going to kill him for what he did at the game…"

            "It's alright, Harry, we don't have to panic yet. He has kept Draco alive this long, I don't think he's ready to kill him just now."

            "But he's shamed him, this time! You know what Lucius Malfoy's like, don't you? You know he doesn't care about Draco! What if-"

            "Calm down, Harry," Dumbledore said softly, "this is but a battle in the war and, as with any conflict, hostages can be liberated with careful negotiation."

            "Hitler didn't think so."

            "Harry," Remus said firmly, "just trust us. Draco is safe for now."

            "How can you think that? Lucius Malfoy, _the Death Eater who wants to feed him to Voldemort_, has just stormed into the school and taken him back to Malfoy Manor! At least we _think_ it's Malfoy Manor. It could be bloody anywhere!"

            "You will watch your language, Potter."

            "_You_ will stop picking on my godson, Snape."

            "You really ought to learn something about _discipline_, Black. We wouldn't want young _Harry_ to end up as much of a failure as his godfather, would we?"

            "Gentlemen," Dumbledore interrupted, an impatient look upon his aged face.

            Remus stepped nearer and placed a reassuring hand on Harry's shoulder, "We know how frightening this must be for you, but for the time being the best thing we can do for Draco is cause no more ripples. From what I hear – "

            "No, you don't know how frightening this is! You don't understand! Malfoy saw us all mucking around together! He must realise that we're friends – what if he takes Draco to Voldemort to try and get information out of him and then sucks out his Life and then – "

            Remus reached out and pulled him against his chest in a hug, resting his chin on top of the boy's head, and casting Sirius a pained look. "Harry, it's okay, calm down, we'll do whatever we can, alright?"

            "I don't want him to die, Moony," Harry whispered back, his voice cracking. 

            "He won't die, Harry, we won't let that happen…"

            "Don't you feel it is a little dishonest to make promises to the boy that you might fail to keep?" Snape asked coldly.

            "You shut your mouth!" Sirius ordered, moving over to stand by Remus and Harry, almost as if trying to shield the boy from Snape's words. "We're going to do whatever we can. And we're _not_ going to let the poor little fucker die."

            "So what do you plan to do?" Snape demanded. "Attempt a break-in at the Manor? I can tell you now that you'll be dead before you get within five hundred yards of the gates."

            "We'll think of something," Remus replied, more to Harry than to Snape. "You're forgetting who we are, Severus."

            "On the contrary, it is precisely that knowledge which promotes my concern."

            "So, are you planning on doing something? He's your fucking student, after all."

            "And you appear to be his surrogate parents."

            "Listen to me, you bastard, you aren't getting out of this," Sirius growled, striding over and standing so close to Snape that their noses were practically touching, bearing down on the other man despite their equal height, "It's only your fucking fault he got in unnoticed in the first place. If the wards here we the way they used to be – before they were fucking relaxed so your snivelling arse wouldn't get stunned any time you touched something –"

            "Sirius, the wards are not weakened by or for Severus," Dumbledore said calmly. "Death Eater or not, Lucius Malfoy is Draco's father. He is well within his right to remove him from the school at any time he should so choose."

            "But-"

            "Harry, some times the best course of attack is to do nothing. I suspect that Lucius Malfoy will be anticipating the arrival of the Cavalry; to adhere to his apparent plans would be foolish and inexcusable on our part."

            "We can't leave Draco there!"

            "And we shall not. But we must not act too soon. You must trust our judgment and allow us to make plans that have some genuine potential of reaching their fruition. Charging in with curses blazing will only endanger Draco further."

~*~

Draco had never been more afraid in all of his days. They had been back at the Manor for hours and he had not seen his father at all. They had apparated back to Wiltshire from the school gate, and Lucius has said nothing to him except, "Go to your room." This was not a punishment, this was the warning alarm. It would only be a matter of time. Lucius Malfoy favoured psychological rather than physical torture, but he was not averse to the latter by any means. On the contrary, he preferred to combine them in chillingly inventive ways. Forcing an eleven year old to kill his pet labrador being one of them. Now, they were playing a waiting game, allowing Draco to torture himself with the fear of what would happen. The physical suffering could come later.

            It was at dinnertime that Draco first began to piece together his father's intentions. He was locked into his room with no way of leaving and a House Elf delivered him a tray holding a glass of water and a meal – a perfectly pleasant looking meal, complete with garnish of salad. A risotto. It looked stunningly appetising, except for one thing – it was mixed in with an inordinate quantity of tuna. Tuna, as they had discovered during Draco's early childhood, disagreed with him. It disagreed with him so severely that he had been taken to hospital for fear that his screams of agony were due to a burst appendix. In fact they had been closer to food poisoning; his tongue had swollen and he had found it difficult to breathe, and then he had begun vomiting. Draco had not eaten the stuff since. His mother had ordered that it be banned from the house, lest he should somehow come into contact with it again. It had been like Sleeping Beauty and the spinning wheel.

            Draco sat at his desk for several minutes, staring at the plate and willing it to be anything else, until the very smell made him nauseous and he had to cover it over and bury his face in his pillow to escape it. He curled up on his bed, knowing that this was the start of something truly horrific and that he had no choice but to see it through. He father would not be offering any alternatives. 

~*~

Harry strode along the corridor driven in equal parts by anger, frustration and extreme urgency. If the adults, the people who were meant to be protecting them, would do nothing then they'd do it themselves. They'd done it before – they'd faced eighteen-foot Acromantulas and undead Dark Lords together, hadn't they? – they could deal with the arrogant, jumped up, pseudo-aristocratic _bastard_ that was Lucius Malfoy. And when Harry got his hands on him – 

            "Harry! Harry slow _down_!"

            Ah, yes, he'd almost forgotten that Hermione was scurrying along behind him, clutching armfuls of texts that he really wanted to tell her would give her a bad back if she didn't start limiting herself to the ones she actually needed and leave behind the ones that were merely affectations, and intermittently imploring him to 'slow down', 'be sensible', 'tell me what happened, Harry!'. He had, at some point, opted to ignore her, fully aware that she would follow him wittering all the way to the hospital wing where he would only have to say everything once.

            The wooden door to the wing slammed back against the wall as he entered, and he was quite satisfied with the bang that nearly made Marmaduke drop the hideous concoction he was holding. Madam Pomfrey hurried out of her office, obviously assuming someone was being rushed in to be tended to, and looked vaguely bemused to see Harry stride up to Ron's bed the very picture of health.

            "Mr Potter, what one Earth is going on?" she demanded, aghast. "You can't just storm in here like that, making all sorts of racket and disturbing the patients – "

            "I'm sorry, Madam Pomfrey," Harry replied, looking as apologetic as he could, "but it's really important that I talk to Ron and, well… he's the only person here, isn't he? So if you could just leave us alone, that would be really good. Thanks."

            Madam Pomfrey stared at him in abject disbelief. "Mr Potter, I don't know where you got the idea that you may come into my hospital ward all curses aflaring like this, but –"

            "I know, Madam Pomfrey, and I'm very sorry, but I really, really, _really_ need to talk to Ron," he said very firmly, "Right now."

            Madam Pomfrey gaped at them, staring from Harry to Ron to a very pink Hermione, and finally began to splutter, "Well, I should have a note from Professor McGonagall… she should have… I…"

            "We're really sorry, there wasn't time, you see," Hermione said earnestly, glancing at Harry as if she was going to take his payment in blood, later, "but if you wanted to go and ask Professor Dumbledore or Professor Black I'm sure they'd agree and explain everything."

            Madam Pomfrey stood and gave a snort like an angry bull, her hands fisted on her hips, and said, "Well, I think I will. I won't have students storming in here without proper reason! First parents, now students! I don't know what's to become of this place! There was a time when the only person who told me when they would or wouldn't be in was the headmaster – now look at the place!"

            Harry opened his mouth to say that they did have proper reason, thank you very much, and that Lucius Malfoy didn't count as a parent in his book, but promptly shut it when Hermione stood on his foot and ground her heel into his toes. He gave a small whimper of pain and shoved her off with an irritated look.

            "Sorry to be so rude, Madam Pomfrey," Hermione continued, "We really didn't mean to be – we're just in such a terrible hurry to speak to Ron…"

            Madam Pomfrey gave her a slightly less furious look before muttering, "Well, we shall see about this," and striding right out of the room, and slamming the door shut behind her, calling, "Marmaduke, you're in charge!"

            Marmaduke promptly responded by shutting himself in the office.

            "What are you, a man or a mouse?" Ron called after him, "Squeak up!"

            "Very funny," Harry muttered, before launching into a double-quick tirade about what had happened in Dumbledore's office. 

            "They're not going to do _anything_?" Ron asked in disbelief.

            "Sirius and Remus wanted to but Dumbledore thinks it's what Malfoy wants them to do, so they're just going to leave him there for that nutcase to do whatever he wants with him! He could kill him! He could let Voldemort have his life right now if he wanted to – " 

            "He wouldn't," Hermione said uncertainly, "he wouldn't do that, surely?"

            "He bloody would," Ron said, scowling. "I can't believe Dumbledore's refusing to do anything. I really thought he was okay…"

            "I don't know what he thinks he's playing at, but he won't. He said so. And Sirius and Remus say we have to wait, too – but we can't! We don't have the time to wait!"

            Ron gave a loud huff and flung back his blankets, "And to think I thought this was going to be a quiet year…" he muttered.

            "Ron, what are you doing? Get back in!" Hermione ordered, trying to pull the blankets back over him.

            "Oh get off, 'Mione, you know we've got to do something. Even if the bloke's a prat half the time, we've got the obligation now," Ron sighed impatiently, gesturing to his bruised face.

            "The only obligation you have is getting better!" she argued.

            "I'm bloody fine, get off, woman!" Ron replied, "Stop fussing – you're worse than Pomfrey."

            "I just want you to be alright before we start gallivanting off after the villain, this time…" she said, in what Harry deemed a border-line 'coochy-coo' voice and reached up to touch his face, where it was still purple, "I thought you were about to die once already this year."

            Ron blushed and clasped her hand in his, "Were you worried?" he asked bashfully.

            "Terrified…"

            "Ahh, very sweet," Harry interrupted sarcastically, "Can you just get dressed if you're getting dressed before I end up in here from being made sick by you two?"

            They moved apart very rapidly and Ron stood up, "Get outside, then," he said, "I'll only be a minute."

            A couple of minutes later they were already on their way back to the common room, rabbiting on in harsh whispers about what they ought to do and what they might stand a chance of getting away with, taking routes that they had found through the Marauders' Map to avoid any unpleasant meetings with Madam Pomfrey.

            "We need a route in," Harry said, "that's all there is to it. We have to find a way in to get him out."

            "That's all well and good, Harry, but we aren't talking about using the tunnel to get into Hogsmeade – we're talking about the house of one of the top Death Eaters!" Hermione said worriedly.

            "We'd be alright if we had Houdini, then," Ron muttered.

            "It'd be alright if we had the Marauders," Harry replied, his shoulders slumping, "but the two we have won't help."

            "Wait!" Ron said suddenly, stopping dead in his tracks.

            "What?"

            "If we can't have Houdini and we can't have the Marauders, who else is there? What's the next best thing?"

            Harry and Hermione stared at each other with dawning realisation, "Oh my God! You're right! Come on!"

            They began to sprint towards the tower, nearly crashing into the portrait of the Fat Lady in the Pink Dress in their hurry.

            "Now, now, dears," she said irritably, "what's all the rush?"

            "Oh CABAGES, you old bat!"

            The Fat Lady scowled at them, "You children don't have any manners, these days – "

            "Yeah, yeah, just get on with it, will you?" Ron tutted.

            She gave him a narrow-eyed look and appeared about to say no, when she was forced aside by Neville falling out of the hole behind.

            "Whoops – sorry Hermione!" he said, blushing and clambering up from her feet.

            "Don't worry, Neville," called over her shoulder as they barged past, leaving Neville to deal with an irate portrait.

            They raced into the room, looking round for the Twins, but wherever they were, it wasn't the common room. Ron volunteered to run upstairs to check their dorm while Hermione disposed of her books and Harry asked Lee Jordan if he'd seen them.

            "Nah, you know them," Lee shrugged, "probably off doing 'secret business' or something; I wouldn't eat anything for the next three days if I were you. You might end up as a slug or something… What's the hurry, anyway? You lot ain't off chasing You-Know-Who again, are ya?" He laughed as if he expected them to join in, and promptly stopped when they didn't. "Oh bloody hell you lot! Look, what d'you expect Fred and George to do? Prank him to death with rubber chicken wands? Just leave this shit to the grown ups for a change! You've only got a couple of years left before they'll let you take on all the responsibility you want anyway – make the most of it. "

            "I've never had a time when I wasn't responsible for it," Harry told him, "but that's nothing to do with it anyway, we're doing something entirely dif – Ron? Not there?"

            "No," Ron said, shaking his head and panting for breath as he made his was back over to them, "got an… idea… though…" he said between breaths, "C'mon."

            "Off again, are we?" the Fat Lady called after them as they burst out into the corridor. "I hope you'll remember your manners next time!"

            "Oh, shove off!"

            They left the Fat Lady squawking indignantly and dived into the alcove half way up the corridor. Ron produced the Marauders' Map from his pocket and whispered, "I solemnly swear I am…" He stopped in the middle of his sentence, his mouth hanging open.

            They stared at it in alarm as Mr Moony's very familiar handwriting swept the words, "You're never up to any good…" across the page.

            It was quickly followed by, "Next generation, my honourable friend!" in Wormtail's minute hand and then by Mr Prongs' slashed, italicised one.

            "Wouldn't wish it any different, Moony, old chap!"

            "Wet blanket!" Mr Padfoot's spider-in-ink scrawl teased.

            "Oh, but I never said I was complaining…"

            The three of them stared in disbelief at the tatty sheet of paper, now displaying blueprints of the school and hundreds of tiny labelled dots, clustered in various areas. "Well it's never done that before."

            "Well… it called Professor Snape some dreadful names…"

            "It called Snape some accurate names!"

            "Does it matter? Where are the Twins?"

            They studied the sheet between them, getting in each other's way and impatiently trying to see through errant strands of Hermione's hair.

            "There!" Harry said suddenly, pointing to a room halfway up one of the sub-towers on the West Tower's side, "There they are!"

            Ron rolled up the parchment and they sprinted off down the corridor to the other side of the school.

            There was a very loud, very peculiar hiss as they started up the final staircase towards the room the Twins were in. Above them there was a very sudden, very total silence, punctuated by the sharp _plink_ of something metal rolling onto flagstones. Ron reached the door first and pounded on it with his fist. "Fred!" he yelled, "Fred, George open the bloody door!"

            There were a few urgent whispers from inside the room and Harry distinctly made out the word, 'Ronniekins' and possibly the word 'hide'. What they were hiding he wasn't sure he wanted to know as long as whatever it was they hurried up about it. A few moments later the door was opened a crack and a hazel-green eye surrounded by bright orange eyelashes and almost hidden by an equally vibrant fringe peered out.

            "What?"

            "George, let us in – we need to talk to you, it's really important!"

            "For God's sake, Ronniekins – I'm _Fred_, alright?"

            "Same thing, just let us in."

            "Wait there."

            The door shut again and they waited impatiently outside, each looking to the others nervously. It was a couple more minutes before it opened again and they were allowed into a room furnished with a couple of tables, two armchairs and a large and unusual shaped object hidden underneath what looked like an old curtain. The look they received when they stared at it with interest gave them enough reason to believe asking about it was unwise.

            "So what is it?" George asked, leaning against the windowsill and folding his arms, the last of the day's light spilling over his shoulders and reducing him to a silhouette. "Don't tell us you want some canary creams to feed the Slytherins because they were harsh to Malfoy – "

            "—You're turning into a right bunch of free-love do-gooders, you are."

            "It's worse than that," Harry explained, "no amount of canary creams is going to sort this out."

            Fred cast George an interested look and moved nearer, "We're listening."

            "Lucius Malfoy came to the school today, and took Draco back to – well, we assume back to Malfoy Manor – and we need to get him back."

            "Missing him already?" Fred asked, smirking.

            "Lucius Malfoy might kill him," Hermione said sharply. "This is an obligation, not an option."

            "What?" George asked, moving away from the window and closer to the rest of them, "Why would he kill his own son – ?"

            " – Dragon Boy's his pride and joy – "

            " – he's not going to kill him just for managing to not drop Ron when he fell on him – "

            " – that would be just plain stupid."

            "Look, it's really complicated, but Draco and I have been friends since the start of term, his father's working with Voldemort – " there was a universal wince at the name "- and he's basically going to use Draco as part of some ritual, and me too if he can get his hands on me, and it'll mean we'll die. Now he's got Draco at home he could do the spell any time he wanted, so we have to get him back. Now."

            Both older boys stared at him with looks of 'Could you please repeat the question?' before George finally asked, "Are you winding us up?"

            "I wish."

            "Look," Hermione began, taking the deep breath that invariably signified a lecture or a tantrum, "the fact of the matter is that Draco Malfoy saved Ron's life, and it's our responsibility to save his. He's in the hands of two of the most evil people we know of and there are absolutely no two-ways about it: no one else will help, so we have to. And that means finding a way into the manor. Now, we know you can help us, and if you love your brother at all you'll do whatever you can, because if it wasn't for Malfoy he wouldn't be here at all."

            "Don't you use me as blackmail material!" Ron protested.

            "Well," Harry said shrugging, "if you don't think you can manage it…"

            George stared at them thoughtfully for a moment before leaning over and whispering to his twin. Fred nodded and grinned.

            "A challenge!" he declared, imitating Sir Cadogan quite well, "Why, dost thou doubt us, mangy beast?"

            "Either you will or you won't…"

            "Honourable Knights ever decline a challenge, you lily-livered rogues!" George replied, wielding a fake sword, which he promptly clashed with Fred's imaginary blade. "Ching! No pun intended on the Lily front, by the way…"

            "Great," Harry said, starting to wonder if this was such a good idea after all, as two seventeen year olds danced across the room in an imaginary sword fight. "So, is there a plan? What do we do?"

            "Well that's obvious," George snorted, standing still for a moment.

            "Is it?"

            "Yeah, floo." 

            He jabbed his imaginary sword at his twin, who promptly fell to the floor behind an armchair wailing, "A hit! A hit!"

            "Floo? You've got to be sodding joking!" Ron said, looking at them much the same as Harry was.

            "No," Fred told him smugly, "absolutely true – "

            "- place that size has probably got more fire places than Hagrid's got fleas – "

            "How rude!" Hermione gasped indignantly.

            "How true…" Ron muttered under his breath. Hagrid was great, but you couldn't help feeling a little itchy when he was too close; it was probably to do with all the weird animals he insisted on keeping around the place. And that included Fang.

            "It's far too much trouble to have an entire network re-routed because of Malfoy's whims – " the Twins continued, ignoring her entirely.

            "- and warding them's more trouble than it's worth because you have to be dead careful not to ward a block into the network – "

            " – instead of just an exit porthole block."

            "Right," Harry nodded, trying very hard to take all this unexpected information in.

            "So basically, no matter what Lucie's 'donating' – "

            " – the chances are his not-so-humble abode is riddled with connections – "

            " – that aren't properly closed down – "

            " – couple of invitation wards, maybe – "

            " – which technically you can probably breach –"

            " – cause this new best mate of yours is probably sitting there thinking – "

            " – 'Oh, Harry! – "

            " – Where is my great and speccy-faced hero? – "

            " – Come rescue me on you charging Firebolt!' – "

            "That sounds really gay…"

            "Oh come on – think who we're on about, here!"

            "Point…"

            "Er," Harry interrupted, blushing, "So we should just be able to get through okay?"

            "Well, apart from finding a fireplace that isn't in the school – "

            " – now _this place_ does have good protection – "

            " – internal only – "

            " – basic but effective – "

            "But Sirius spoke to Harry through the Gryffindor fireplace…"

            "Different system. Works basically the same, but you can't travel through a communifloo –"

            " – has to be a portafloo – "

            " – even though you can talk through a portafloo –"

            " – and then you just have to make sure you don't come zooming out in the middle of Malfoy's study – "

            " – while he's having tea with You-Know-Who."

            "Well, how do I do that?" Harry asked worriedly. Landing in Lucius Malfoy's private rooms was the very last thing he'd ever need.

            "Well, let's have a think – now, I know this concept might be a bit hard for you –"

            " – having seen you Floo and everything – "

            " – but in a very, very clear voice you just say – "

            " – 'Draco Malfoy's bedroom, Malfoy Manor'."

            "Quite a concept that, Harry – "

            " – you sure you can manage it?"

            "I'll be fine," Harry said determinedly, turning and heading for the door.

            "Harry? You're not going to go now, are you?" Hermione asked anxiously, grasping at his arm.

            "There's no time to waste, I have to see if he's okay."

            "Where exactly do you think you'll floo from?"

            "The cottage, of course!"

            "Harry, the cottage won't work. If it's on the school's internal floo it won't be able to access external floos will it?"

            "The girl's got a point, Harry, mate," George nodded, giving a sigh.

            "Well, there has to be somewhere!"

            "There is," Fred grinned, "it's called the Shrieking Shack."

            "That rotten old shed?" Ron grimaced, "You don't reckon they ever stuck a floo link in there, do you?"

            "It wasn't always that derelict – "

            " – used to be a really nice place, according to Rosmerta – "

            " – she says she saw pictures of it when she was a kid – "

            " – and always wanted to live in a house just like it."

            "Then I'll go to the shack."

            "How do you two know all this?" Ron demanded suspiciously.

            "We could tell you," George said, tilting his head to the side thoughtfully – 

            " – but then we'd have to tell mum about the time we caught you – "

            " – introducing Rosie Palm and her five daughters – "

            " – to one of her old pictures of Gilderoy Lockhart."

            "What?" Ron virtually squealed in horror, "That's never happened! _Ever_!"

            "Ah, well, you see –"

            " – you know that – "

            " – and we know that – "

            " – but mum's quite gullible really, isn't she?"

            Hermione stared at them aghast, "That is positively disgusting!"

            "S'alright, Hermione," Fred winked confidentially, "we promise not to tell her about the time we caught him and Rosie with the picture of you."

            Fred promptly ducked behind George at the look on Ron's face, and George dived behind a chair. Ron dived over the top of it and a plethora of thuds, laughs and groans ensued. Hermione merely stood in the middle of the room, both hands clasped over her mouth in apparent horror, her cheeks the deepest crimson. Harry took his chance and slipped out of the room.

            He knew what he had to do – straight to the dorm for his invisibility cloak and then out to the shack to check on Draco. His stomach churned with thoughts of what might be happening to him, whether he was going to find that his efforts had been wasted and Draco had already been… It didn't bear thinking about. Harry almost felt as though worrying about it was akin to willing it to happen, and he certainly didn't want that, either. A few months ago he wouldn't have cared about this. He would have been as scandalised as the rest of the school at the news of That Malfoy Bastard being dragged off by his father, possibly to be sacrificed for Voldemort, but he probably would have thought it served him right. Didn't some poet say that children could be cruel? Excessively cruel… Yes, that was very true. All of those things they had done to each other were such a waste of effort when it just meant they'd had far more building to do on the pathetic foundations they had.

            "'Arry!"

            Harry stopped and whirled around, surprised to hear Gavin's voice at the end of the corridor. The other boy was running towards him, his cheeks red and his dark eyebrows knitted into a worried frown.

            "God, I'm so glad I foun' you!" he said, taking a few deep gulps of air and flinging his arms around him, without a care for who might see if they stepped into the corridor. "There's been bloody rumours goin' roun' – Draco Malfoy's dad comin' t' the school an' takin' 'im 'ome and someone were sayin' tha' you an' 'im were 'avin a duel and they all know you stopp'd fightin' an ev'rythin' – so they said it were you tryin' t' save Malfoy from 'is dad an' I been doin' my soddin' nut tryin' t' find you…!"

            Harry squeezed him back and rested his head against the other boy's shoulder; it felt solid and reassuring and it felt so wonderful to have someone who cared like that, someone to hug him and worry about him for reasons other than personal responsibility.

            "'Arry?" Gavin said gently, stroking the back of his neck with his thumb, "'Arry, what's 'appened? Is it true? D'you duel wi' Malfoy's dad?"

            "Not this time," Harry sighed, "but one day I'm going blast that man's brains into the middle of next week."

            "Thank God… What're you up to, anyway?" Gavin asked, leaning back a little and looking down at him slightly suspiciously.

            "Nothing…" Harry lied, knowing he was about as convincing as a novelty Groucho Marx disguise.

            "Oh, right," Gavin said knowingly, nodding to himself, "I see now; you're gonna go on a rescue mission, aren' you?"

            Harry opened his mouth to deny it, only to have one of Gavin's palms laid gently across it.

            "Shh a minute, lemme speak. Now, I know you, 'Arry. I know wha' you're like an' I know that you've probably got your 'eart set on this, an' I won' try an' stop you. But if you do this I'm coming wi' you. I am _not_, absolutely _not_ goin' t' let you do this alone, see? I couldn' f'give myself if somethin' 'appened t' you an' I didn' stop you from goin'… so I'm comin' wi' you. 'Cause at least I might be able to 'elp, then…"

            "Gavin, you can't! This could be really dangerous – what if something happens to you? Do you think I could forgive myself either?"

            "'Arry, I can' let you do this…"

            "Look, neither can I – I'll have Ron and Hermione to help, you don't have to worry about me – "

            "'Arry, I worry 'bout you all the bloody time! Never knowin' what sort of plot there is t' have you done away with or who you can trust! Frighten's the life outta me t'think that there are people in this school prob'ly writing 'ome t' mam and dad every night tellin' 'em what you been doin' –"

            "There is, her name's Ginny," Harry said, trying to distract him. "And that's the scariest thing I can think of…"

            "Oh, jus' be serious for a minute, _please_!" Gavin begged, gripping both or his shoulders and gazing at him with fearful brown eyes, "'I _can't_ let you do this. Not without me. I'm meant to be your boyfrien' ain't I? I'm meant to be protectin' you…"

            "You don't have to do that – I can look after myself, I promise."

            "Don' promise, jus' don' stop me helpin' you – I _need_ t' do this… I wan' to be involved because I know that this is goin' t' be important an' it means a lot t'you… If I can't be there when you need me most what kinda boyfrien's that make me?"

            "Gavin, I really, really appreciate what you're trying to do, but firstly, I've dealt with Voldemort himself so many times – I can handle this – _really_. Secondly, I don't want people to realise – least of all Malfoy – that you and I are… y'know… _together_. It'd make you a target… Thirdly, you don't have to protect me – from _anyone_. I know it's just how you are," Harry said, rubbing the older boy's back soothingly, "you're lovely and you want to look after me and that's really, really great – it makes me feel… y'know… loved – but you're not going out with a girl, you're going out with me. The part that _is_ Just Harry _and_ the part that isn't… and the part that isn't can manage enough for Just Harry, too."

            Gavin gave him a small smile and stroked his cheek, "Sounds like I'm goin' out wi' Dr Jekyll an' Mr Hyde…"

            "No, just me…"

            "Wouldn' 'ave it any other way…"

            Some part of Harry's brain was tutting impatiently and lecturing him on the risks of kissing one's boyfriend in the middle of a school corridor, and how this did not improve the chances of him avoiding target status. Harry was just about to acquiesce when a voice cried, "Oh my God!" from the end of the corridor. Both boys pulled away quickly and turned to see whose voice it was, fearing the worst.

            "Yes, it's horrible and stuff, but you learn to ignore it after a bit," Ron said, shoving a slack-jawed Twin out of his way. "Harry, you prat, I don't know what you think you're planning on doing, but you won't be doing it without the floo powder, you great pillock."

            "Ron Weasley, ladies and gentlemen – "

            " – International Master of Secrecy."

            "Piss off."

            "Language Ronniekins – "

            " – mummy wouldn't want to hear you speaking like that, now, would she?"

            "Harry," Hermione said, impatiently breaking away from the three squabbling redheads and walking over to Harry and Gavin, both of whom were standing there looking rather pink, "you – " she cast Gavin an uncomfortable look, "you can't just run off and do this without planning it first, this could be very dangerous – "

            "I were tryin' t' tell 'im that!" Gavin told her, sounding desperately glad to have someone agreeing with him. "Tell 'im, 'Ermione – it's mad t' go there on 'is own. 'E won' lemme go with 'im…"

            "What?" Ron demanded, turning and staring at him. "You know about this?"

            "O' course I do – whole school's talkin' 'bout it. An' I know _'im_, an' all – know wha' 'es like an' there's no 'ope in 'ell of stoppin' 'im, an' there's no way in 'ell I'm lettin' 'im go on 'is own!"

            "Gav…"

            "_No_, love!"

            "_'Love'_? How the fuck – "

            " – did we not notice this, you soft bastards?"

            Ron looked at them like they were idiots, "Yeah, how _didn't _you notice?"

            "You lot, just _stop_, will you! You can argue about me another time – at the moment we're meant to be helping Draco, okay?" Harry said impatiently, looking around at each of them,  "So what do we do?"

~*~

Remus walked in the back door of the cottage rubbing his brow and headed straight for the kettle. Sirius followed, slamming the door so loudly it made Remus flinch, and wrenching a chair out from under the table so harshly that it swung back and clanged hard against the metal bucket near the fireplace.

            "I _hate_ feeling fucking useless!" Sirius growled, banging the table with his fist before resting his head in his hands, his no-longer-quite-short hair spilling though his fingers.

            "We're not, Paddy, we're just biding our time, that's all," Remus told him soothingly, sitting down on the chair to his right.

            "We don't _have _fucking time!" Sirius replied, looking up at him desperately, grasping at his hand and squeezing. "We can't screw this up – too many lives already, Moony… How many was it they killed on Samhain? Eighteen? Twenty?"

            "Thirty-one."

            "How can we just let that poor fucking kid suffer on his own without even doing anything? It's insane!"

            "Harry concerns me more," Remus admitted gently, brushing the other man's hair out of his face. "God knows what he'll try to do, now. You know what he's like… He's very fond of Draco and he won't take 'no' for an answer. I was considering that maybe we should let him go to Wales with Gavin for a couple of days when the holiday starts. It'll give him something to look forward to and it'll distract him."

            "_Wales__?_ No way – it's far too risky, Moony! We don't know who these people are!"

            "Yes, we do, I asked Jemima Brown if she had any background on them, she said she knows Bryony Cross through her sister-in-law. They're an ex-Hufflepuff and an ex-Gryffindor, Siri, no connection to the Darkside by any stretch of the imagination. Bryony runs a baby clothes shop and Dennis is a taxi driver, believe it or not. They live virtually as Muggles. I think it'd probably be the safest place for Harry – it's actually a pity he'd only be there for a couple of days. If you don't believe me why don't you ask Dumbledore?"

            "I do believe you, but what are the wards like there? How many people would know that Harry's there, where he isn't as protected?"

            "I'm sure we can arrange to take him to and from the school with as little fuss as possible. Send Gavin home on the express without him, then take him down to Wales the next day when Gavin is settled back at home," Remus suggested calmly. "We have to let him live like a normal teenager, Padfoot. James would have fought tooth and nail for that; he has enough complicated problems to overcome as it is, stifling him is not going to help, no matter how well-meaning."

            "But – "

            "Siri, listen to me, he has to get comfortable in himself. He's fifteen years old, he has barely been out of the closet for six months and he has two boys – both of whom have their merits, I will add – who are fighting for him. And he doesn't know whom to choose. Now one of them has been snatched by his father who also happens to have plans to kill him. This is not an easy time for him. If we let him go he has something to look forward to and it will take him away from this place for a while. It'll be empty without the others and he'll have far too much worrying-time on his hands. We really have to let him do this for his own sake."

            Sirius stared at him for a moment, before giving him a small, sad smile, "How did you become an expert on teenagers?" he asked leaning over and resting his forehead against Remus'.

            "We were all fifteen once," Remus said quietly, giving him a tiny brush of a kiss on the lips, and sighing. "He means the world to Gavin, you know."

            "Does he really?"

            "Yes, Siri, really. He worships the ground Harry walks on and he knows about Draco. In fact, he thinks Draco is going to win Harry's affection and he'll be left standing."

            "Harry's always so bloody adamant that he doesn't fancy blondie, though…"

            "No, but sometimes I wonder if it's too late for that to matter."

            "What's that supposed to mean? You don't reckon Harry's in _love _with Draco, do you?"

            "They're very close…"

            "So are Dumbledore and McGonagall, but you don't think they're shagging, do you?"

            "I tend to avoid it."

            "I think we all tend to avoid it!"

            "Quite," Remus chuckled, stroking Sirius' face and gazing into his pale blue eyes. They'd changed. They weren't the bright, sparkling pools that the girls would sigh over in the common room, but they weren't the flat, colourless and vaguely inhuman things that they had once been. They had life in them again; some of the old Sirius was really beginning to seep through, like blades of grass through the snow. "I love you," Remus found himself saying, entirely without meaning to.

            "Love you, too," Sirius smiled, looking slightly bemused. "You feeling alright?"

            "I'm fine, I just… well, do I need an excuse?"

            "No, but if you fancied dropping in a kiss as well I think I could turn a blind eye."

            "Tart."

            "Thank you."

            "We were meant to be discussing Harry…"

            "Harry can do, see, and go what, who and wherever he wants at the moment, I really don't care."

            "My God, you're such a nightmare, sometimes!"

            "Look who's talking."

            "Seriously, Padfoot," Remus said, trying to disentangle himself from the man trying to nuzzle his neck, "You're treading thin ice. And we need to decide where Harry will be this Christmas. It's less than a month away, you know…"

            "Okay, okay," Sirius huffed in mock annoyance, "Harry it is. I thought it was only babies that were meant to ruin your sex-life?"

            "Siri, dearest darling, let us make something clear – you don't _have_ a sex-life."     

            "Heh, yeah, and don't I know it?" the other man scowled. "Really, Moony, this separate room things has got to stop – "

            "Thin ice, Siri."

            "We'll give him a portkey with voice activation, have Moody scope the house and have Harry there by lunchtime on the day after the train leaves. He can stay two nights, and then he's coming back. One of us picks him up around dinner time on the last day?" Sirius said immediately, as if successfully dissuaded, "Happy now, slave driver?"

            "Well, it needs a little refining but it's a start."

            "Moony, doesn't it bother you that even our godson is getting laid and we aren't?"

            "Coming from the one who had his hands over his ears at the mere mention of Harry _kissing_ someone that's a little rich, isn't it? Besides, they aren't."

            "How do you know that?"

            "Because he hasn't told me and Draco hasn't come to me in tears, yet."

            "Well, Draco's not exactly going to now, is he?"

            Remus gave a sigh as the urgency of the situation with which they were faced was brought back to him, "No, I don't suppose he will."

            "This is wrong, Moo…" Sirius sighed, resting his head on his hand and gazing at him mournfully. "This is going to go tits up, I know it fucking will."

            Remus stood up to pour the kettle, stroking his hair as he passed, "I have a funny feeling that we'll get through, one way or another."

            "Yeah, but what about Draco? Can you fucking _imagine_ having to tell Harry the kid's been sacrificed? It'd screw him up for good, Moony!"

            "It won't come to that. We won't let it. We may have to hold fire for now, but it won't last forever."

            "Yeah, and what if that's too late? What do we do then?"

            Remus stared down in to the swirling bubbles on the top of his tea, "I don't know."

~*~

The scene that night, should anyone have looked out of a window facing the Whomping Willow just after midnight, would almost certainly struck them as ominous. Six figures ran across the grounds towards the vicious plant and disappeared into a hole at its base. Together, Harry, Gavin, Ron, Hermione and the Twins stumbled along the darkened passage, lit only by a couple of Lumos spells. 

            "I can' believe I'm doin' this!" Gavin hissed excitedly, reminding Harry that while all the others were quite used to running around the school in darkness and had explored its secret tunnels more than once, Gavin was a fairly average student who only ever got detentions for not handing in homework and certainly not for helping Hagrid with baby dragons in first year; he felt around in the dark and grasped at Gavin's hand, squeezing tightly.

            Ahead of them, one of the Twins flung open the trap door into the Shack and climbed up, holding the door open for the others while his brother moved around lighting lamps around the room. The others climbed into the room and looked around them curiously. Even for Harry, Ron and Hermione it had been a long time since they were last in the dilapidated building.

            "So, how are we going to do this?" Harry asked, staring at the huge, long-burnt-out fireplace with anticipation. 

            "You got the floo powder?" Fred asked, removing his rucksack and dumping it near the hearth.

            "Yeah, here," Harry replied, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small jar in which he had secreted some floo power from the cottage.

            "We're going to have to build a real fire – "

            " – magical ones are too traceable – "

            " – but we've got the stuff, so it shouldn't take too long – "

            " – then we'll do a test-run, see what we get."

            The other four stared around at each other, nerves and excitement building as the Twins diligently unpacked their bags, slamming chunks of dry wood, an old copy of the Daily Prophet and some carrier bags of dry leaves and twigs down onto the stone hearth. Within a few minutes there were small, flickering flames licking out from beneath the near-conical pile of twigs, and both boys sat back in satisfaction.

            "There!"

            "Now we've just gotta wait for it to get a bit bigger…"

            "Said the 'ousewife t' the vicar."

            Everyone stared at Gavin, who promptly turned rather red and explained, "S' a sayin'… y'know – when someone says somethin' a bit rude-soundin'? Innuendo?"

            "Riiight," Ron nodded, clearly thinking that he was a fruitcake. "So how _do_ we make it bigger?"

            "Tell you what, Ron – "

            " - you take this bottle of lighter fluid, here – "

            " – and see what happens when you pour it on there."

            Ron stared at the bottle in his brother's hand and almost reached out with his own to take it, hesitating and withdrawing carefully. "Nah," he said finally, "I don't trust you two one bit."

            The Twins looked at each other and laughed wickedly, "Looks like he's learning after all…"

            "Shouldn't we at least try _something_?" Hermione asked, from where she stood close to the hearth. "We should try to get this over with as soon as possible."

            "Stoke it," Harry said, reaching down and pulling at a longer stick protruding from the flames and using it to stir up the fire so that the flames rose in their intensity a little. "See? Can we give it a try, now?"

            George tilted his head to the side, squinting at the flames, "I think it'll have to do, really."

            "Yeah," Fred nodded, folding his arms, "get the floo powder and throw a little bit – "

            " – _just_ a little bit or you might end up there without meaning to – "

            " – into the flames and speak _really_ clearly, alright?"

            Harry nodded and unscrewed the lid of the jar, handing it to Gavin and reaching inside to take a hefty pinch. He stepped closer, feeling the weight of all their gazes on him, and took a deep breath before throwing the dust into the flames. They gave a sudden roar and rose another foot in size, flickering green and then… dying down to their usual size.

            "Damn!" Harry said, turning to the Twins for advice. They were frowning identical frowns, heads cocked to an identical angle.

            "It's been a while –  "

            " – it's hardly surprising it won't go straight away…"

            "Try again."

            Harry turned back to the fireplace and took another, larger pinch of floo powder, tossing it quickly into the hearth, there was the same _whoosh_ of fire and the flames flickered green – back to orange – and then, to their unanimous relief – 

            "GREEN! It's staying green!"

            "Hurry up, Harry!"

            "Um – _Draco Malfoy's bedroom, Malfoy Manor._Wiltshire…" Harry added, just to be sure.

            "Don't forget the postcode, Harry, mate," one of the Twins snorted in amusement.

            "Ah, y'know – better safe than sorry an' all that…" Gavin grinned, kissing Harry on the top of his head. Harry barely noticed.

            For several seconds there was nothing. They waited, staring into the hearth, each willing something to happen.

            "Why don't you try saying something?" Hermione whispered.

            "Er… um… _Draco_?" Harry began, trying not to speak too loudly, "Draco, can you hear me?"

            There was another long pause and a strange shuffling sound, and then, to their delight, a bleary-looking and very pale face appeared in the flames.

            "Harry?"       

            "Oh, thank God you're alive!" Harry cried, kneeling down to get closer to the fire. "I thought you'd be dead by now!"

            "So did I…" Draco replied, trailing off as he looked over Harry's shoulder, "Oh my God, you brought the entire school! Is Lupin here?"

            "No… why, did you want to speak to him?"

            "No, I just thought you might be conducting a lesson on how best to get yourself killed by a Death Eater."

            "Sarcastic git," Harry said, smiling indulgently. "How are you doing? Has he hurt you?"

            The pale face in the flames looked away for a moment before saying, "No, not yet. He has been hoping I'll harm myself, though."

            "What?" Hermione asked, immediately kneeling beside Harry.

            "He has only allowed the House Elves to bring me food mixed with tuna – to which I am profoundly allergic. Very, very profoundly allergic. Of course, I can't eat something that has the potential to cause me great pain and possibly even death, so I haven't eaten. This is only the first day and I'm already hungry – he knows that either by eating contaminated food or by starving myself, I am very likely to result in killing myself."

            There was some hurried shuffling behind them, and Harry glanced back to see George tipping his bag out onto an armchair and riffling through the contents. He turned back to Draco.

            "Don't worry, Draco, we'll have you out of there soon – can you floo?"

            "Ordinarily, yes, but not now."

            "What? Why?"

            "I'm grounded, of course – you don't think he'd just put me in my room and take no other precautions, do you?"

            "What do you mean when you say 'grounded'?" Hermione asked, looking confused.

            "I mean he has trapped me in my bedroom. I cannot leave."

            "My mam grounds Jack like tha'," Gavin elaborated, stepping nearer, "involves a bit of 'air or somethin' and there's a spell that can only be released when the person who cast it puts one of their own 'airs into it, see?"           

            Harry turned back to Draco who stared up at Gavin for several moments, saying nothing. The look he gave Harry said plenty, though.

            The tension was broken by George leaning through between Harry and Hermione's shoulders and tossing something into the flames. Instinctively, Draco caught them both and stared down at his hands, out of sight of those in the shack. He looked up sharply and stared at George appraisingly before asking, "Are these your novelty creations?"

            "No," George told him, shaking his head slightly, "I bought them in Honeydukes. I thought they might tide you over until we can get you some food in."

            "What d'you just give him?" Fred asked, glancing back at George's empty bag.

            "Just a couple of Meal In A Mouthful bars… I think our apocalyptic stock can do without two for now."

            "You never bloody know," Fred replied impatiently, "and you just completely wasted a really good opportunity there, an' all."

            From the fireplace Draco looked up and nodded to George, breaking up their light bickering, "Thank you," he said with as much dignity as he could. "I'll repay you if I ever get out of here."

            "Don't mention it," George said, shaking his head, "it's us who are in debt already, isn't it?"

            "Can you lot try not to talk about me like I'm not bloody here?" Ron asked irritably. He was crouched beside Hermione, now, not far from the flames.

            "Look, Draco, we'll sort out some kind of rota or something – we'll bring you food as often as we can – we won't let you go hungry just because your dad is trying to be a bastard," Harry assumed him, wishing he could reach into the flames and place a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "That way we'll see you often enough to be able to notice when something is wrong… _if_ something is wrong."

            "Meals on Wheels at sixteen," Draco smirked, "this does not bode well for my retirement…"

            "Harry, I think we should start getting ready to leave," Hermione said, looking at her watch, "we've been here for long enough. I'm sorry, Draco."

            "Granger, the very fact of knowing I have some avenue of contact with the world outside this place is reassuring enough. If you don't mind I'd actually quite like to continue my beauty sleep."

            "You sure?" Harry asked.

            "Quite sure. Really," Draco insisted. "Go. Before I start making unreasonable demands!"

            "We'll be back," Harry promised as he began to scramble to his feet, "Tomorrow – about lunch time – is that alright?"

            "We'll I don't know, I'll have to check my diary," Draco replied, rolling his eyes. 

            "Tomorrow, then. Sleep well…"

            "Like the dead, no doubt. Good night."

They put out the fire with a bottle of water Fred had brought, and collecting their things, began to scramble down the tunnel back to the school. They made it across the grounds and up the stairs safely, parting company on the second floor landing as the Twins ran to their secret room to stow away their things. Ron and Hermione crept back to the Gryffindor common room, while Harry and Gavin stayed behind to say goodnight before they parted.

            "You feelin' better, now?" Gavin asked, smoothing down Harry's hair affectionately.

            Harry nodded, sliding an arm around his waist and just inside the other boy's zip-up track top; "He's not dead, at least."

            "You gonna promise not t' do anythin' daft now we know that?" the older boy said, gently rubbing the tip of his nose against Harry's.

            "I don't do daft things…" Harry replied, kissing him and then resting his head against the other boy's shoulder, cuddling him tightly. "Thank you for coming with us," he said softly, "I'm glad you understand."

            Gavin closed his eyes and squeezed him tightly, "He's your friend," he said kindly, "I jus' think of what I'd be like if somethin' 'appened t' Si… Frien's 'ave t' come firs' sometimes, that's all."

            "Gavin," Harry said, pulling back slightly and looking up at the Welsh boy earnestly, "I really appreciate the way you've been with me, recently. I know sometimes it must seem that I'm a bit…"

            "Obsessed with Draco Malfoy?" Gavin offered, giving him a small, wistful smile and running his thumb gently on the back of Harry's neck.

            "_Obsessed_?" Harry echoed, frowning worriedly. "Is that… is that how is feels?"

            Gavin took a slow, deep breath, casting his dark brown eyes towards the ceiling, "Sometimes," he conceded softly. "An' it 'urts, a bit, but… I dunno… I live with it 'cause I don' wanna make you think you 'ave t' choose, I s'pose…"

            "What do you mean, 'choose'?" 

            Gavin swallowed and winced slightly, "'Arry… 'alf the time we're together I'm scared you're suddenly gonna decide you like 'im better than me an'… an' jus' _dump_ me. I couldn' blame you or nothin' but I really don' wan' to lose you, an'… well, _look_ at 'im – 'e's better lookin' than I am, one day 'is dad's gonna be locked up an' he'll own ev'rythin' and most of all _you're closer than we are_." He swallowed again and gave a heavy sigh, "Tha' makes it soun' like I think you're fickle…" he said, pinching the bridge of his nose and shaking his head slightly. "S'not what I were sayin'… I were jus' sayin' that if you… if you _did_ I could see why…"

            "What?" Harry asked in concerned disbelief, reaching up and pushing the older boy's hair back behind his ear, gently, "Oh, Gavin, _listen to me_ – I really, really care about you. How many times do you want me to say that? He isn't… Draco just can't compare, okay? He's my friend and he's great, but I don't want him. I want you."

            "You c'n 'onestly say you'd rather 'ave th' workin'-class lump from the Valleys an' not the beautiful, sophisticated heir to a massive ancestral estate?" Gavin asked dubiously. "You'd be mad."

            "Who would _you_ rather have?" Harry asked. "And he's not beautiful, he's just pretty. Like a girl – and I don't like those either. You, on the other hand," he said, sliding his hands up the front of Gavin's top with a mischievous grin, "are much, much sexier that _anybody_ in this school…"

            Harry kissed him slowly, trying to show that he meant it. He wasn't very good at that sort of thing.

            "Well sometimes it jus' feels too good t'be true, tha's all…"

            "Let me tell you something about 'too good to be true', Gavin – the day you picked up my books for me I had only just been thinking about the guys I'd fancied and liked at the time and you were one of them. When you spoke to me I almost thought I'd imagined it because I just didn't think you'd ever be even slightly interested in me. You should take a look at yourself, you know. You're one of the most popular people in the school – you're the captain of a sports team and you're brainy and gorgeous and there was absolutely _no reason_ for you to like me. I'm lucky if people like me for being the Boy Who Lived once they actually meet me, let alone fancying me."

            Gavin gazed at him for a few moments, his mouth slightly parted, "But I liked you fer ages!" he told him, as if this was the most ludicrous thing he'd ever heard, "I were waitin' for some excuse t'speak t'you – an' I thought tha' when I were made captain it gave me a reason, y'know? Like we 'ad somethin' in common… like we were equal. I were _gutted_ when you asked out Cho…"

            "But you went to the ball with that Hufflepuff girl – "

            "What was I mean' t'do? Ask you to go myself? When you'd just 'ad the nerve to ask a really pretty _older_ girl? You 'ad the respect of a lot o' people fer that, you know. An' besides, I started t' think tha' you did like girls, after all. Would've made a prat o' myself for nothin'."

            Sighing, Harry returned his head to its previous resting place on Gavin's shoulder and said, "You're an idiot, Gavin Cross. A soppy, stupid idiot." He slipped his hand back to the dip of Gavin's spine and pressed his fingers flat against the warm skin. "Draco needs me – he's got no one else and so I feel sort of responsible for him, I suppose… and I mean, he's y'know… he's in love with me and everything and I know I make it difficult for him just by being with you, but I can't help that, because that's what I want." He looked up at the other boy and said, very firmly, "This is what I want. _This_ – us… I care about him, but it's not the same. Not really."

            "I…well… _part of me_ knows tha'," Gavin admitted, rubbing Harry's back and brushing his lips against Harry's so gently he had to reach up and pull him down for a proper kiss, which seemed a little more slow and drawn-out than usual; more meaningful and somehow even more loving than Gavin's always-gentle touches. "But part of me," he sighed as he pulled away just enough to be able to see into Harry's eyes as he spoke, "part of me jus' thinks tha' this is too good to be true an' I'm always 'alf waitin' for somethin' t' ruin it. An' I know you don' love me back or anythin' but I love you an' even though I can' think of anythin' worse at the moment than losing you… I wan' you t' be 'appy…"

            "I'm happy with you," Harry told him, mildly disturbed by how different his voice sounded in that moment. How his heart contracted in his chest and sent warm pulses to his stomach with every thump.

            "You sure?" Gavin asked rubbing their noses together just a fraction.

            "Completely."

            "Good…"

            They stood in silence for a few moments, arms wrapped tightly around each other, until Harry said, "I'm going to speak to Remus tomorrow – about Christmas and coming to your house and stuff…"

            "Really?" Gavin asked, smiling happily.

            "Yeah, really," Harry nodded, slipping the hand beneath his top down until the fingers were instead slid well beneath the waistband of his jeans. "And I thought that maybe…" he trailed off, taking a deep breath and nuzzling into Gavin's neck.

            "Maybe…?"

            "Maybe we should see if we can sort of… y'know… pick up where we left off at the cottage; and go a bit further…" Harry said hesitantly, not sure how to say what he was trying to, but very sure that he meant it.

            "How much further?" Gavin asked, so quietly Harry wasn't sure he'd have heard it if he hadn't had his lips so close to Harry's ear.

            Swallowing, Harry raised his head a little and kissed him awkwardly on the cheek before nuzzling back into the curve of his neck, "As far as we can."

~*~

It was strange, the first few days, when people he barely knew and for many years had hated began to appear through the leaf-green light in his fireplace and hand him food. People he had never liked were trying to help him, and although he hated the feeling of being dependant on them – of being little more than another Gryffindor 'cause' – he was grateful to them, because in their place he wasn't sure he'd make the effort. They often came in pairs, although there was one time when Granger had come alone, explaining that Harry and Ron had got into a fight with Zabini and Higgs and had detention, and sometimes Harry would sit and talk to him for a while. It was nice to have some company, but they never stayed for very long, always rushing to get back to class or afraid of being caught – or just plain disinterested.

            It was one lunchtime that the hearth suddenly blazed emerald and Draco saw a familiar face peering through, the vivid sweep of fringe a distorted dark brown instead of its usual vibrant red.

            "Draco?"

            "George? I'm here," he said climbing from his bed and crawling nearer the fireplace. He looked through the flames himself, "Where's Fred?"

            "What makes you think I'm not Fred?" George asked, smirking and tilting his head to the side.

            "Well, I don't know, but it could possibly have something to do with the fact that you're George," Draco told him. "Unless you've taken to cloning yourselves and named the creatures after each other, moron."

            "Hang on, hang on, hang on – we're _identical_!" George protested disbelievingly, "Even our own mother can't tell us apart – how the hell can you tell whether I'm me or not?"

            "It's a gift," Draco snorted. "Or perhaps just a rouse on your mother's part to cover the fact she can't remember your names."

            "Hm… that's possible, actually. All these years we thought swapping jumpers was enough to get away with murder…"

            Draco smirked and waited as the other boy crouched down in front of the hearth and began to unpack his bag.

            "Nothing special today, I'm afraid," George told him, passing the package into the fire, "they gave us loads of stodgy stuff, so I had to go down to the kitchens after and get this."

            "You shouldn't have bothered," Draco told him, feeling slightly embarrassed. He unwrapped the parcel to find a couple of sausage rolls, a cheese and pickle sandwich and an apple. "Thanks," he said, folding it back together and putting it to one side. The other boy would be gone shortly and eating while he someone was actively watching made him horribly self-conscious.

            "No problem," George smiled. There was a long pause and to Draco's surprise the other boy settled down on the floor, his knees brought up to his chest and his hands linked around them. "So, how're you getting on?"

            "Me?" Draco asked in surprise, "Oh well, I'm fine, except for insane boredom and lack of hot food and fresh air."

            "Harry thinks your dad's going to do something really bad," George admitted. "I probably shouldn't've said that, actually, but y'know…"

            "I know what?"

            "Well, not _you_ know, but… _y'know_? Harry's worried. Your dad's a fruitcake, isn't he?"

            Draco didn't say anything.

            "He's good like that," George continued. "Cares about everyone… Daft prat gets himself into a lot of crap that way, though."

            "Why are you here?" Draco asked, tonelessly. This was beginning to sound a lot like someone had been sent to drop hints and he wasn't sure what about, but he had a feeling that he didn't want to know.

            "It's lunchtime…" the ginger boy said, frowning. "What's the matter?"

            "So where is your brother?"

            "He's… He's just busy. We don't wither and die on our own, thanks… Why, anyway?"

            "Why are _you_ here?"

            "I told you, it's lunchtime."

            "You know that isn't what I mean, Weasley. Usually you hand me the food and leave. I'm still trying to fathom out why you even do that. You've spent years trying to kill me on the Quidditch pitch, so – "

            "Oi! Anyone'd think you'd forgotten what happened last time you were on the bloody pitch and exactly why it is you're there instead of here!" George interrupted. "Ron might be a bit of a twat but he's our little brother and like it or not, you saved his life the other day, so we're doing what we can to save yours. We can stop if it bothers you, y'know."

            Draco took a deep breath and looked away from the fire for a moment. "I apologise; I just can't stand being trapped here and I can't… You're supposed to hate me."

            "Water under the bridge," George told him immediately. "Circumstances change things."

            "Right."

            There was another lengthy pause.

            "Look, if you really wanna know, Fred's not here 'cause he's off with this girl he's seeing," George confessed, staring at his hands. "D'you mind if I hang around for a bit? I've got a free after lunch anyway."

            "You've nothing better to do that sit in a dusty old hut and talk to me?"

            "Actually, I could be working on the latest Wheezes, but I thought you might like some company."

            Draco stared at him for a minute; "If you want," he shrugged finally. "Don't feel obliged, though."

            "I don't. I just thought that seeing as I'm feeding you every day it was best to get to know you as something other than The Anaemic Little Prat."

            "How touching."

            "Well… fair's fair, ain't it?"

            "If you say so."

            There was another long pause and Draco had the strangest feeling that the next hour was going to be as much fun as pulling teeth. 

            "So," he began again, as George sat and picked at the fraying hem of his jumper, "are you jealous?"

            For a moment the other boy froze, before looking up at him very slowly. "Jealous? Who of?"

            "Of the girl. Or maybe of your brother…"

            George stared down at his sleeve again. "No…"

            "I see," Draco nodded; clearly, he was lying. "So which one aren't you jealous of?"

            "I'm _not_ jealous!" the older boy protested crossly.

            "Right. And it doesn't bother you at all? Suddenly you aren't needed and you're stuck with me… Two's company, after all."

            George looked up and fixed him with a stare, "He's my twin," he said flatly.

            "Yes, I know. But she isn't."

            "Malfoy, are you trying to start a fight?"

            "No, I'm just saying that it must be difficult for you when you're being pushed out like that."

            "I'm not. We're different people, you know, we can have lives of our own. We're not co-dependent!"

            Draco laughed at the flushed face in the fire. "That is a down-right fib, Weasley."

            "Shut up… we're not co-dependent," George said again, less certainly.

            "Well, Fred might not be…"

            "Neither am I!"

            "Except that when he's not around you have to come and waste your time with the last person in the world you'd ordinarily want to speak to?"

            "It's not like that! I just thought I'd make the most of the time, that's all. If you'd rather I left I can just go now."

            "No," Draco found himself saying, before he even knew why, "no, don't – I'm sorry. I suppose I'm reeling from the shock of hearing you finish one of your own sentences."

            George tossed a piece of coal from the hearth through the fire and muttered, "Get stuffed," but he was starting to grin again.

            "Well," Draco sighed, unwrapping the food parcel again and starting to pick at a sausage roll, "anything interesting happening at the school?"

            George gave a snort of laughter and said, "Not much, 'cept Harry and Gavin Cross are fucking weird! Did you know they're going out?"

            Feeling as though he wanted to bang his head against a brick wall, Draco nodded, "Yes."

            "Ah. We didn't. We were dead surprised, actually. Never had Gav down as a homo… Harry… yeah, probably, but not Gavin."

            "Quite."

            "And we caught them snogging the other day – which was the first we knew about it, actually – and since then every time I see them they're all touchy-touchy. Makes you sick, doesn't it? Bloody couples. I hate all that soft stuff. I don't care who does what with whom, just as long as they're not practically shagging each other in front of me. Ergh."

            The ginger boy grimaced and Draco was torn between not wanting to know the details and masochistic curiosity about what he wasn't being told about Harry and Gavin. Almost every time Harry was 'on duty' he brought Gavin with him. Draco really wished he would stop, just come alone for once so that they could actually talk. He saw him every day, but he still missed him, some how.

            "Are they that bad?" he asked, forcing a laugh. He didn't want George to know about his feelings for Harry if he didn't already.

            "Pretty bad. Not in public – I don't think they're that stupid – but Gavin comes and hangs out with us sometimes and when that happens… It's like watching a soft por –"

            "Please stop."

            George blinked at him, still half-grinning. "What's wrong, feeling sick enough already?"

            "Yes. You could say that."

            "Sorry, I'll shut up, now."

            "Just change the subject…"

            "Er… okay… So, um… what sort of music are you into?"

            "_Music?_" Draco asked, bemusedly, "I'm not really a fan of anyone, really…"

            George looked vaguely scandalised. "You're not into _anyone_. You don't appreciate music at all?"

            "Well, no… I never really had the time for it."

            "You have been missing out. A lot."

            "I'd say that was a matter of opinion."

            "I'd say that was a matter of fact!"

            "Why do I have a horrible feeling you're about to enlighten me?"

            "Can't," George said, frowning, "nothing to play it on."

            "You play an instrument?" Draco asked, suddenly a lot more interested. Harry had gushed that Cross played guitar or something, and he wanted to find out if this was really as wonderful as Harry seemed to think it was.

            George looked vaguely resigned and said, "Nah, what with all the stuff we need for Quidditch it always felt like a bit much to ask for instruments as well…"

            Draco suddenly felt very guilty for the fact that his parents could supply an entire Quidditch team with brooms and consider it no more than pocket money; some part of him noted that this was the first time he had felt genuinely sorry for the Weasleys. He carefully suppressed a cringe.

            "Don't you play anything at all?" George asked. "I sort of imagined you'd be trained in classical piano or cello or something poncey like that."

            "No. My mother wanted me to take up piano when I was five but my father shared the opinion that classical instruments are, as you say, 'poncey'."

            "Oh. Sucks."

            "I can't say I'm that bothered."

            "Yeah, but you had that chance, man – most of us would've killed to be able to afford stuff like that!" He blushed slightly and looked away, as if he felt he had said too much.

            "Well, I would have killed to have a family like yours," Draco said quietly. "The only sibling I had was murdered at birth by my psychotic father, which drove my mother insane…" He looked up to see George studying him with a look of concern. "The grass is always greener, isn't it?" Draco said with a slight smirk.

            George stayed for ages; in fact he missed his only lesson of the afternoon because they didn't notice the time. It had been an awkward start, but they were soon talking like old friends. George was so laid back once he was off the subject of Fred that it was hard for Draco not to tell him things that he knew were best kept quiet… Harry, his ill-fated suicide attempt, his pyroclasty… When George finally admitted that he did feel 'bored' without Fred's full attention, he knew to accept he meant 'lonely' and that being a twin was something far more intense and hard to comprehend that he could ever have realised, otherwise. "He's been there all my life," George had explained, "we've grown up together sharing everything, We know each other so well we could practically read each other's minds… People think we're too close, that there's something wrong with us; I know because I've heard them say it. They'd never understand, though… they can think what they want, the wankers. I'm not going to pretend to be something else just because they want me to."

            Draco had raised an eyebrow, feeling that when he put it like that George made it sound like there was some foundation to the rumours; George threw several pieces of coal at him and promptly protested what Draco deemed to be far too much. He told him so, and George picked up a rusty old pair of coal tongs and shoved them at him, through the fire, threatening to break his perfect, aristocratic nose. Draco had laughed until his stomach hurt.

~*~

Harry's mind was not particularly focused as he packed his clothes for the trip to Wales. In fact, he had to pull everything out and re-pack twice and he was only staying two nights! Unsurprisingly, he was thinking about Gavin, which was why he had all the concentration of a goldfish. They had agreed, after carefully skirting around the subject and using progressively more obscure euphemisms for a couple of weeks, that this was what they both wanted to do. Ron would probably have a fit and rave for hours about sex before marriage if he knew, so Harry hadn't told him. He hadn't told anyone, even though he was fairly sure from the look of interest Simon gave him when he bumped into them both in the corridor, and the subsequent wink as the rest of the students congregated in the entrance hall before heading to Hogsmeade station that morning, that Gavin had told his best friend. Harry had blushed a lot, he was sure. He and Gavin hadn't been able to say goodbye as they would have liked to at the door, but they had met up early before breakfast and whispered promises, and assurances that had made his stomach flutter, between kisses. It was only a matter of hours until they saw each other again, but to Harry it felt like weeks.

            The rucksack he was taking wasn't very big, and he had to take some smart clothes, too, because they were all going out on the first night, and he had tried and tried to fit everything in because he felt a little silly taking anything larger with such a short stay planned. He had been trying to ignore the fact that he was going to be meeting his boyfriend's parents, forcing himself to concentrate on other things. He was more nervous about that than the prospect of losing his virginity. They had agreed to wait until the holiday, when he was away at the Cross family home, because for all the convenience afforded to living on school grounds, having a werewolf with disturbingly heightened senses for a godfather detracted rather a lot from it where anything sexual was concerned. Harry had often thought that it must have been horrendous for Remus during his teens, when he had to share a dorm with three other teenage boys. Just the sounds of quietly rustling sheets embarrassed Harry to the point of burying his head under his pillow and reciting the _Alchemic Alphabet_ backwards in his mind. Sometimes he though he might be slightly prudish and wondered at what point he had actually lost his mind enough to have such an intimate argument about embarrassingly private things in front of Sirius and Remus. 

            Other times, he felt exhilaratingly liberal; but then there did tend to become a point when everything else just stopped mattering when he was with Gavin. He liked that. Aside from the fact that he was very, _very_ much a male of the species, Gavin was ordinary and that made Harry feel more ordinary, too. Well, in many ways Harry thought he was utterly extraordinary – there weren't many people who would put up with his so-called 'obsession' with Draco and be so very intelligent and so ditzy and so _blond _despite having such shiny dark hair and sparkly brown eyes and so strong and laddish but so soppy and cuddly and… Harry suddenly became aware that he was gazing wistfully at the dark blue t-shirt in his hands, which was about four sizes too big for him and had ended up in his possession sometime a few days ago when Harry had said he smelled nice. Gavin had taken off both his tops, handed Harry the t-shirt and put the jumper back on. Harry had then stuffed said garment under his pillow in the dorm (much to Ron, Seamus and Dean's amusement), only to come back after class to find conspicuously fresh-looking sheets and the t-shirt folded neatly on his pillow. Even the house-elves were dropping hints…

            Harry sighed and sat down on his bed, grinning to himself and burying his face in the t-shirt, the fabric worn soft with use and age. It smelled of Gavin – like the Dolly Mixtures in the corner shop down the end of Foxglove Avenue in Little Whinging, and something sharper like Granny Smith's apples – and when Harry thought of Gavin it made his stomach twist in happy knots. He just cared about him _so much_ that he almost bubbled over with excitement when he knew they were due to see each other in the night – something that had happened more and more frequently since the night in the Shack. Gavin made him so happy it actually hurt – a tight, jittery feeling just beneath his ribs – and Harry knew, now, that he couldn't keep hurting Gavin by putting him second to Draco. As much as he cared about Draco (and he cared about him a lot) it was Gavin he was going out with – Gavin who was going to be the first person he slept with (and he Gavin's) – and that had to count for something. Draco would understand, if only he'd let Harry talk long enough to explain without it turning into a fight again. He had to… And if he didn't… well, maybe Harry would have to start making some decisions.

**To be continued…**


	14. Chapter XII:ii In Your Broken Home

Note from the author: 

I just wanted to say a few things here, before I get onto the second half of chapter twelve.

Firstly, thank you to everyone who has taken the time to review, even the ones to whom I haven't responded. If you at least leave your email address there somewhere I can get back to you with the answers to your questions!

Secondly, telling me what to do with the plot is only going to incur my sudden, fiery Gryffindor wrath, so save yourself the flame and me the effort of apologising when I feel bad afterward, and just don't tell me what to do. Negative comments I can live with – your opinions on what you have read are always valuable. Your opinions on what should happen next are not, unless you go by the name of Ashe Frost and happen to be my beta. This may sound a little harsh, but we both know the background and the scheduled events for this story and we do everything for a reason. _Trust us._ The fic is barely halfway through at this point – a lot more can happen, yet.

Finally, for those of you who are interested in the Harry/Gavin aspect of the fic – and I know that there are some – a huge missing scene of around twenty pages was recently posted on the WtDBI Yahoo! Group. Meet Gavin's family and friends and see what the boys are like when Draco and the Pups aren't around.

I hope to see you there.

.alfie.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Chapter ~ XII:ii 

**In Your Broken Home**

"Fall forward to even the score…"Funeral for a Friend 

The first thing Harry did when he returned from the Valleys was to dump his bag in his bedroom and sneak off to the shack, eager to speak to Draco. He wasn't sure if or how he was going to tell him why he was so happy or what Draco would even say about it if he told him, but he was virtually walking on air and he just wanted to share it with someone. He felt like he understood what Draco has been trying to articulate, now. It made him feel like an even bigger bastard in ways he'd never contemplated before, knowing what it was Draco was missing out on, but he was genuinely so happy – he just wanted to tell the world, but failing that, his friends would do. Ron and Hermione had both gone home, though, which only left Draco…

            He was still concentrating on things to say to him when he threw open the trap door and was met with the sight of two very anxious faces, one from the fire, the other from the redhead sitting in front of it.

            "Oh. It's you…"

            "Y-yeah, I just got back… Um… hi."

            "Alright," the redhead nodded, turning back to the fire, but not saying anything. From what Harry could see of Draco, now partially obscured by the other boy's elbow, they were sharing a meaningful look.

            _Since when did you two know each other well enough to have a meaningful _anything_?_

Inexplicably disgruntled, Harry climbed into the room and shut the trapdoor behind him. "Has everything been okay? No emergencies?"

            "No. Not that you really would have been able to do anything if there had been, seeing as you were several hundred miles away."

            "What?"

            "Nothing."

            Harry cast an uncomfortable look at the boy sitting beside him, not really wanting to talk about it too much in front of him. "Look, Drac, I – "

            "Drac-_o_."

            "Okay, okay, _Draco_ – I… well, I thought you understood… about Wales and everything. I mean, we talked about it…"

            "No, you told me about it," Draco corrected. "Are you staying? Sit down with George if you are, I can't see you properly."

            Glancing at George, who continued to say nothing, Harry settled on the floor.

            "Did you enjoy it? Oh, I'm sorry, did I say 'it'? I meant 'him', naturally."

            Harry turned crimson, "It was… good. We went to the cinema… I'd never been before."

            "How romantic."

            The other two boys glanced at each other and George made a small snort that may have been a suppressed laugh, he couldn't tell.

            "Um… kind of," Harry said warily, looking between them and wishing he knew what was going on. He was sure that something had been said about him in the recent past and didn't like the feel of whatever it was still lingering in the room's atmosphere. "Have I missed something? Am I interrupting? I could just go… Y'know… come back later?"

            "Nah, s'okay, I'd better go and find Fred anyway," George said, standing up without uncrossing his ankles and brushing the dust off of his jeans.

            "Oh… okay."

            Harry caught a glimpse of disappointment on Draco's holographic face in the fireplace and frowned slightly.

            "Don't forget, okay?" George said, smirking down at Draco, who smirked back and nodded. "I'd talk to you later, Drac, alright? See ya, Harry."

            "Um… bye." Harry didn't miss the restless look in Draco's eyes as he watched the older boy disappear down the trapdoor. "Looks like I missed something after all," he said carefully. "I go away for a couple of days and suddenly you've got a new best friend."

            "So?"

            "Nothing, I… well, I'm just surprised, that's all. I didn't think you and George knew each other very well."

            "Not that it's any of your business, but actually _George_ has been making the effort to spend time with me for a couple of weeks – which is something I notice you haven't."

            Harry began to feel guilty, knowing that it was true, "I know," he admitted, rubbing at the back of his head awkwardly. "Things have just been… well… Gavin and I had to sort a few things out. I didn't mean to neglect you or anything – I'm not even sure how safe it is to keep doing this. Don't you think it's a bit risky? Your father could walk in at any time and you – "

            "You're making excuses, Harry."

            "I'm not! Honestly – I… Look. There's something you need to know – "

            "Oh no – no, don't you dare start telling me that. I don't want to hear it. Any of it."

            "You don't even know what I'm going to say!"

            Draco looked at him sceptically, "I don't _know_ but I can take a fairly accurate guess. And I don't want to hear it."

            Harry opened his mouth to speak, only to close it and gaze mournfully at the other boy, who was in turn fixing him with an impatient glare. Nothing else was said for several minutes.

            "Has your father spoken to you at all?" Harry finally asked, desperate to change the subject.

            "Funny you should ask that, actually," Draco began, the expression on his face suggesting that in fact, this wasn't going to be funny at all, "Yesterday, in the morning, my father did come to visit me. He stopped for a chat – incredibly peaceable and friendly in his manner – he commented on how well I looked and brought me a book to read as he said he didn't want my studies to slip while I was so unfortunately injured. I knew, of course, that something as wrong there and then.

"When it reached dinner time I wondered why Bloff, the house elf that usually served me hadn't arrived. He was usually very punctual about my meals, even if they were entirely inedible. So, I waited, and after some time, looking rather upset I felt – not that I know or care much about our house elves – Gobber came in carrying a silver platter. Ordinarily, my evening meal would be brought in on a tray with a glass cover, so I was naturally intrigued. I waited until Gobber had left, and then I took a look," Draco said, his voice sounding slightly strained in its detached, matter-of-fact tone. "On the plate, underneath the wonderfully shiny silver, was the severed head of the house elf that had been feeding me. Clearly, my father assumed that he had not been carrying out his orders, and made an example of him."

Harry's mouth hung open in horror. "I don't believe it…"

"I do. I saw it with my own eyes; it made me sick. And do you want to know what the book was?" Draco asked, almost sounding like a child relating a gory account of how a snail looked when it was trodden on.

"I'm not sure I do actually," Harry mumbled, grimacing.

"It was a large, leather-bound volume on the implications of life-debts and how to use them for personal gain. A self-help book in how to screw people over."

"Oh."

"On the positive side, I may be able to talk my way into being allowed out of here and to the library to study. I dare say I could smuggle out some interesting tomes for the perusal of Hogwarts gallant staff – who have so far proved quite uncaring on the matter of my safety, don't you think?" 

"I know," Harry sighed, "but you're alright, though – you don't think you're in any more danger than before I left, do you? You know I wouldn't have gone if you'd been scared – if I really thought you needed me, right?"

Draco stared at him through narrowed eyes, "How would you know? Every time you came you'd have Cross with you and it isn't as if you ever stayed. The only person who did was George."

Harry took some vague solace in the fact that Draco was at least calling Gavin by his surname, not a string of insults, these days, and asked, "How did you manage to get him away from Fred?"

"I didn't, he chose to spend his free time with me," Draco told him, an infuriating smugness in his voice.

"Seriously?"

"Why does it surprise you? Miss being the only person capable of some semblance of civility?"

"He's a Weasley," Harry said flatly, distantly wondering if the world had gone mad in the past three days and someone had failed to tell him.

"Oh shut up – you sound like I did when I was twelve!"

"Well, yeah – that's the point…"

"In case you haven't noticed, I am _sixteen_."

"I _know_, I'm just saying… well, you've changed, that's all."

"Of course I've changed – do you see me hexing you into oblivion for being an insensitive, stupid git?"

"No, but I'm a bit surprised about that, too… I've been –"

"Oh no you don't – don't start doing the self-pitying thing to make me feel guilty."

"I'm not!"

"Yes, you are!" Draco taunted, mimicking Harry's own voice and saying, "I'm Harry and I'm a selfish prat most of the time, but it's okay because I admit it and that means I have to take no responsibility for it anyway'. I think not."

Harry sucked in his lip to prevent him from pouting, a reaction caused by trying to hold his tongue and not storm off in a strop simultaneously.

"Oh don't look at me like that, Harry, you're making an idiot of yourself."

"Get lost!"

"I would, only I'm grounded and can't actually leave."

"Yeah, I know," Harry sighed, rubbing his eyes. "We'll do what we can, okay?"

"Considering the only thing it seems our great professors and leaders of the Order have been able to do is sit in their offices twiddling their thumbs, I won't bother holding my breath."

~*~

It was surprisingly easy to persuade Draco's father to let him study in the manor library. Almost too easy. It was several days before Draco felt safe enough to smuggle out a book to pass to Harry. He chose one that was small and ordinary-looking, but focused on the great magical sources – the elements and, most importantly, Life. If there was a way to remove Life, perhaps there was a way to keep it in?

He passed the books he stole through the fire one a day. In their library, filled with over half a million books and taking up two floors at the end of the south wing, he was fairly sure they would not be missed. He _was_ afraid of being caught, though. He knew that if his father found out he was smuggling books out of the house – to Harry Potter of all people! – he would be signing his own death warrant. But there was something strangely exhilarating about the fear; the creeping sensation across his shoulders and up his spine as he walked carefully through halls of spying, devious paintings who would report back anything suspicious. He was glad that the only art in the library was a pair of black marble occamies that stood either side of the main doors and didn't speak much; there was no art in his bedroom. His father had thought that being surrounded by art would make him effeminate. It seemed terribly ironic, now.

~*~

Fred had always thought it was impossible for anything to come between him and George; no matter what happened they had always, always been inseparable. Not just living in each other's pockets, but never angry with each other or unwilling to speak to the other. They didn't need to read each other's minds, because more often than not they were thinking the same thing. Feeling the same thing, it would seem, was growing less of a synchronised affair. Where Fred would say where he stood as and when he felt it, George had a thoroughly unproductive habit of bottling things up until they exploded.

He hadn't seen it as a big deal when he'd started hanging out with Gina. She was the year below them and a Muggle-born tomboy who thought Quidditch was stupid and rugby was the answer to the world's problems. Her theory was that one rugby match would sort out 'the entire Voldie cock-up'; Fred's theory was that she was barking mad, but he quite liked her, so he'd made the effort to stick around and see what else she came up with. The longer he'd spent around her the more time he'd _wanted_ to spend and before he really knew what was going on he'd been told they were seeing each other. He'd just shrugged and said 'Why not?' 

It took a while to work out exactly why not and the reason was pretty stupid in itself. At least, Fred thought so.

He'd noticed straight away when George had started spending all his spare time at the Shrieking Shack. He almost thought that George was deliberately doing it to annoy him, because as grateful as he was to Malfoy for catching Ron, he still thought he was a cocky little git and couldn't understand what possessed his brother to spend so much time around him. Apparently, George felt the same way about Gina, and that's where the argument had stemmed from.

It had been a simple comment, one Fred had probably said once a day in the past few weeks; "I'm just going to hang out with Gina." 

Only, this time George had scowled and snapped, "What's fucking new?"

Fred had stopped in the doorway and turned to look at him; "Eh?" he'd asked incredulously.

"I said what's fucking new?" his twin said, slumped back against his pillows, legs stretched out down the bed and an expression of deep annoyance across his freckled face. "I mean, it's not as if we have Wheezes to be working on or anything."

"So? You're perfectly able to do some work on your own, aren't you? If you can find time to fit it around _Malfoy_, that is..."

"What's that fucking meant to mean?" George demanded, spinning around so his legs were hanging over the edge of the bed. His knuckles whitened as he gripped the edges of the mattress on either side of him and glared at his brother. "It's a bit rich coming from you, ain't it? You're the one who pisses off with some girl every five minutes."

"What's the matter, Georgie, jealous?" Fred smirked in the way he knew infuriated Ron and Percy so very much.

"Jealous? Oh, take a look, will you, you prat? Look at the colour of her hair and the way she dresses and ask her what 'Gina's bloody short for. See if you sodding notice anything, Fred. Just see."

"What the fuck are you on about?" Fred asked in disbelief, thrown by the expression on his brother's face, the unfamiliar tone of his voice.

"Oh, forget it – if you're too bloody stupid to see what you're doing forget it, Fred. You go off with your bloody stupid girlfriend and just leave me alone… Again."

Fred's temper got the better of him, then, and in a second he was nose-to-nose with his brother, growling, "Shut the fuck up."

"You're only spending so much time with her because you get to fuck her!" George replied, his voice rising almost to a yell. "You're that bloody shallow that you're going out with someone just like us – just like _me_ – because you get laid with it! And now you've found a fucking upgrade that's it, who needs George anyway? After all, we're only bloody twins."

"Don't be so fucking pathetic!"

"We're fucking _twins_, Fred! We've always done everything together and now some bloody _girl_ is so much more important that you don't even care about the Wheezes any more! Don't you wanna do this? You decided that we're not going to have the shop or any of it? Because that's the way it's going, Fred, and I'm not giving everything for you to give nothing. It's not fair to expect that!"

Fred had been a bit shocked at the tone of his voice and demanded to know what the hell that had to do with George, anyway. He should have known, really. The only night they'd ever slept in separate rooms was when George broke his arm in first year by falling off the top of the revolving staircase on the ground floor and had walked out of the hospital wing and back to the Gryffindor dorms in the middle of the night because he couldn't sleep on the other side of the school from his twin. Of course, they told themselves they'd be fine alone now they were nearly eighteen, but they never risked finding out, just in case. He should have known that spending every spare minute of his own with someone – anyone – who wasn't his twin was asking for trouble. Except George was the thoughtful one, not Fred.

So he's lashed out and said stupid things he'd meant at the time, but would never have considered, usually. And then he'd stormed off defiantly, planning on seeing Gina, only to find that she was too busy hanging around with her friends, and decided that he'd go and find out what it was about Draco Malfoy that George found so entertaining anyway, and stomped off to the Whomping Willow in frustration.

Malfoy had seemed deeply surprised to see him, immediately asking what was wrong and where George was.

"He's up at the Tower," Fred had told him irritably.

"Is that so?"

The superior look on the younger boy's face almost made Fred want to slap it. "Yes, it is," he replied.

"What's the matter, had a little tiff, have we?"

"What if we have?"

Malfoy shrugged and gave a heavy sigh, "You really should get over yourself, you know. Or should I say 'yourselves'? He needs to learn to _share_ and _you_ need to learn to manage your time. I'm sure it's all very exciting that a woman other than your mother has taken an interest, but you really ought to remember your priorities. George will be there a long time after this little witch of yours; but not if you push him away like that. There's only so much a person will take of being pushed away."

Fred studied him warily. The other boy's eyes had dropped as he drew to the end of his little speech and for a fleeting moment there he almost thought Malfoy might be capable of an emotion other than smugness.

"Can I ask you something, Malfoy?" Fred asked carefully, moving into a more comfortable position and tilting his head, thoughtfully. "Why George? What makes you so keen on my brother all of a sudden when you used to hate the lot of us? You see, I don't quite get the concept, here, because I still think you're a haughty little knobhead."

"I didn't pick George. George volunteered. And it just so happens that at least one of your brood was gifted with a certain amount of wit and intelligence," Malfoy told him, smirking, "Who would have thought it?"

"Oi – none of my family are stupid!" Fred replied hotly, before muttering, "Well, except Maybe Ron… But that still doesn't make sense – "

"Listen, Weasley, if you can't see the appreciable characteristics in your own twin I really don't have the patience to explain them all to you. Just the fact that he takes the time to give me some company despite everything should be enough of a clue."

"He only does it because I have to spend time with Gina and he has nothing better to do – "

"You think so?" Malfoy asked, the same superior smile drifting over his lips. "Maybe he did, once. You must be spending an awful lot of time with the girl if that's still the case."

"He's not here that often…"

"Every day."

"So?"

"I just think that you underestimate your brother's potential for free will because you're too busy exponentially abusing the fact that he's always there doing the hard work. You used to be a perfect little balancing act, didn't you? But you're older now, and you want to go off and meet the world and expect to come back when it suits you and find everything the same. But you won't, because the world keeps turning and you're not the only one who isn't an obnoxious little boy any more. Well, I happen to think you're still obnoxious, actually, but you see my point."

Fred stared at him between disbelief at the other boy's audacity and quiet horror at realising that some of the things he was saying might just be true. Slightly.

"Here, Weasley," Malfoy said suddenly, shoving a book through the flames. "Take this and make yourself useful. Give it to Harry, and tell him he should… look … at…"

Fred froze, staring at the other boy's shoulder. A hand was clasping slowly onto his robes, a silver serpent with green eyes curled around the smallest finger. The younger boy's face had frozen in terror and his eyes slowly dropped closed, his lower jaw quaking slightly. In a whirl of robes he was wrenched from view and replaced with the hiss of a man's voice.

"_Crucio__._"

Fred ran for Draco's life.

It was dark when Sirius opened the door; they were not expecting visitors and were just finishing their evening meal. He did not expect to greet a panicked and incoherent Weasley, who stumbled past him and into the living room, calling for Harry.

Harry leapt up from his seat in the kitchen, dropping a spoonful of apple pie and custard onto the flagstones in his hurry. "What?" he asked, gripping the other boy's shoulders as he stared down at him with terrified hazel eyes. "What's the matter?"

"It's… Draco – it's Draco… his father – he – "

Harry paled instantaneously, "Oh no – George, what happened?"

"Fred – I'm… His father caught him, Harry – there was… he cast an Unforgivable and he screamed and – we have to do something! He's… we have to help him!"

Remus carefully detached Fred from Harry as he began to look slightly faint, and pushed him towards the sofa, saying, "Calm down, Fred, tell us what happened. Where is Draco?"

"No – we can't – Harry - !"

"Fred," Remus said firmly, clasping the teenager's shoulders, "take a deep breath and tell me what happened. Where is Draco now?"

"At the Manor," Harry said from behind them, both hands in his hair, grasping fistfuls as if about to tear it out.

"What?" Sirius asked, moving back into the room from where he has been standing shocked in the doorway. "How..?"

"We've been talking to him from the Shack for weeks – his father has been starving him and we had to sneak him some food – George has been… _Fred_, what were you _doing_ there? Where's George? Why did you go?"

"It's my fault…" the other boy murmured, anxiously, "It's my fault because I went – if I hadn't been there his father never would have seen him and – I just wanted to talk to him… I didn't… Oh shit – George!" He stared over Remus' shoulder at Harry and took a deep and unsteady breath, "George – I have to tell George…"

"You can tell George in a minute," Remus told him sternly, "which curse did Lucius cast, Fred?"

"C-cruciatus… and he screamed and… He's going to kill the poor bastard, isn't he?"

"I don't know," Remus replied, turning to glance at Sirius. "Siri, get Albus. Tell him we need Severus and that we have to get a rescue organised immediately. And just hope that it's not too late."

~*~

Draco's vision was blurry with pain. A grey fog seemed to settle around him as he slumped back onto the floor, limp. His father was close by, still; he could sense him there, the hatred radiating from him in a scorching heat. He cried out and doubled over as his ribs made a sickening crunch under his father's foot. He was distantly aware that his face was wet and hoped that it was blood, because his father would be so very angry if it was tears.

"Get up."

Draco rolled a fraction, trying to obey, and gasped at the excruciating pain that fanned out from his side.

"I said get _up._" His father's voice sliced through him like a million tiny blades, and Draco gave a sob and struggled to his knees, desperately trying to ignore the agony it brought. He staggered as he rose, clutching his arms around himself and blinking as drops of blood splashed onto his hand and on to the dark wooden floor. He choked as his father grabbed him by the throat and hissed, "Get out of my house," into his face, shoving him towards the bedroom door.

He could feel his father close behind him as he stumbled along the hallways, falling against panelled walls every time a cane with a platinum snake's head was lashed across his legs. He fell to his knees as his whole body felt as though it had been set alight, searing agony tearing through him. As he reached out to steady himself he found there was nothing in front of him to grasp, and suddenly he was falling. Dimly he knew that this was the grand staircase; the same fall that had killed his grandmother and for a moment it felt as though his heart had stopped altogether. It felt as though he would continue to tumble forever. When he reached the bottom he gasped for air, his lungs feeling as though they were filling up with cement and his shattered ribs feeling uneven and jagged beneath his skin. He remained still as the sound of his father's cane clicking against the banisters grew slowly and deliberately closer.

"Oh _dear_," his Lucius said with false concern and barely veiled glee, "did little Draccy slip? What an awful thing to have happened. Such a pity it didn't kill you, as it did when I pushed your dear grandmother. Of course, I had to snap her neck with my bear hands, just to be sure. We wouldn't want there to be any mistakes, after all, would we, Draco?"

Draco whimpered and curled up as much as he could.

"I said _would we, Draco_!" his father bellowed, and he heard the sharp _swish_ of a cane whipping down across his face.

"No, father," Draco lisped, feeling blood or spittle roll down from the corner of his mouth and not much caring which it was.

"No," his father echoed. "No, we wouldn't."

The next few moments were blank; he blinked his eyes open to find his breath steaming in front of him, the icy dampness of snow against his skin. He couldn't see his father, and wondered if he was alone as he watched a spreading patch of darkness seeping across the moonlit snow.

"What have I done to deserve such behaviour?" his father's voice asked from behind him, echoing slightly against the walls of the rear courtyard and sounding theatrically wounded and hard-done by. "Have I not raised you to understand that your loyalties are to this family and our Master? Did you feel so great a need to punish me that you would turn to Mudbloods and blood traitors and betray me, or did you think I would fail to notice my books disappearing?" 

Lucius sighed injuredly, "Dear Draco, my only son, I had such plans for you. Now, I am afraid that you have outlived your use, for it is clear that you are far from worthy of joining with our Lord." He gave a small laugh, "Indeed, you are barely good enough to feed the estate's hounds! Alas, I can think of no better use for you. When they are released at breakfast time I am sure they will make quite a meal of your feeble form – I asked that they not be fed for a few days, as soon as I suspected that I would have such fresh meat to provide them with."

Draco gave a small sob and tried to curl up into a foetal position, the ice against his cheek burning his skin.

"Oh now, Draco, we mustn't cry. What have I told you about crying? Besides, I am not a cruel man and you are my only son. I shall leave you here and with any luck by dawn you will have succumbed to the cold. You may even be dead by the time they reach you."

"F-father, please…" Draco's voice was so weak he could barely hear it himself and he didn't have the energy to try again.

Lucius laughed and crouched down beside him, stroking this cheek in a parody of tenderness, "Oh, and about our friend, Harry Potter, there was never anything you could have done. He will still be part of a more high-class feast, but I promise to ensure I have some _rump_, just for you."

There was a sound of feet crunching in the snow and then there was silence; Draco closed his eyes and felt the first flakes of snow brush onto his face.

~*~

In the little white cottage on the edge of the Hogwarts lawns a small group of people were arguing. In the middle of it all Sirius Black yelled at Severus Snape, restrained only by Remus Lupin clinging to both his arms and pleading with him to calm down as Albus Dumbledore laid a frail but authoritative hand upon the shoulder of the Potions master. In the midst of it all stood Harry Potter, yelling over and over that they had to help Draco, and on the sofa sat Fred Weasley, watching the whole affair with disjointed detachment. It was like a bad dream. Now that the adrenaline had worn off there was nothing he could do but watch as nothing was done. Sirius and Harry wanted to run straight to the Shack and get the other boy back or die trying. According to Snape, they probably would. Dumbledore and Lupin tried to draw back the calm, but what would they do once they had? They were helpless without the understanding of the Malfoy estate that Draco's father had.

There was a resounding silence as he spoke out, so suddenly that he even made himself jolt with surprise.

"Dobby."

It was Lupin who reacted first, even though all eyes had turned to him simultaneously. "What was that, Fred?" he said, his neat, calm voice sounding inappropriate in the circumstances.

"Dobby – the house elf. The one in the kitchens… he was the Malfoys'. He must know… surely he'd know everything?"

"DOBBY!" Harry echoed, grasping hold of Lupin's sleeve. "Dobby – he'd know! Fred's right! We need Dobby!"

Immediately, Dobby was standing amid them, half way through a sentence and still polishing a piece of silverware. He blinked huge green eyes from beneath a tea cosy covered in small Christmas trees and snowflakes and stammered, "O-oh, hello, Harry Potter, sir."

"Dobby!" Harry said, falling to his knees to reach eye-level with the creature that Fred absently noted was wearing one of Ron's old t-shirts, "Dobby, we need you to help us. You have to tell us about Malfoy Manor – about the wards on the house."

"What, sir?" Dobby asked, looking worried. "H-harry P-potter wants Dobby to talk about M-mr Malfoy, sir? Oh no! No! It's a bad man, Harry Potter! A very bad man indeed. No no no!" he covered his ears, folding them down so he couldn't hear. 

"Dobby," Harry said firmly, pulling the elf's hands away, "You _must_ tell us what we need to know. Remember your old master, Dobby? He's hurting Draco and we have to go and find him, but we can't if we don't know what wards are going to stop us. You _must_ tell us, Dobby, _please_."

"But Harry Potter can't go there! It's a bad place, a terrible place! There are great statues there and whispering walls, sir. No – Harry Potter mustn't go! Must never go there!"

"You don't understand, Dobby," Harry pleaded, still clinging to the small creature's wrists, "Draco could die and we have to save him, but we can only do that with your help. We know it's dangerous, Dobby, but it's more dangerous for Draco to be left there. Lucius could kill him… he could _kill him_, don't you understand?" Harry's voice quivered as he spoke and Fred pressed the heels of his palms over his eyes, trying to block it all out and wishing more than anything that George was there. George, who still didn't know that any of this was going on. George who was probably still angry with him and would probably go to the Shack to try and speak to Draco to –

"Oh no. George!" Fred leapt to his feet, pushing his way through the crowd towards the door.

"Fred?" Lupin called after him anxiously, moving towards him as he reached for the latch. "Fred, where are you going?"

"George," he breathed, throwing the door open and running out into the cold night air.

"What about George?"

"I have to – "

He didn't finish his sentence, his heart pounding in his ears as his feet barely skimmed the grass as he ran.

Since they were small, both twins had had a natural ability to locate each other. They were never usually very far apart, but you could put them at opposite sides of a maze and they'd walk straight to each other. Fred was never more thankful for this than right at the moment he swung around a corner and slammed straight into George, running in the opposite direction. His brother caught them both from falling as he staggered back against a statue and held Fred to him with handfuls of woollen jumper.

"What's happened?" George asked immediately, helping him stand upright and giving him the barest of shakes to bring him around. He hadn't seen that sort of fear in his brother's eyes in all his life. He had known something was wrong. There was a sick feeling in his stomach as he lay on his bed, face buried in the pillow. Twice, he had looked up, thinking he had heard Fred's voice. Twice there had been no one there.

Fred stared at him, his mouth half open and lip shaking with the desperate gasps of breath he drew as he stood there, his eyes darting with panic.

"_Fred_! Tell me!"

Fred's mouth worked helplessly until he murmured, "Malfoy…" and George's heart leapt up to his throat.

"No…" he whispered, shaking his head disbelievingly. 

"All my fault…" Fred mumbled, slumping sideways into the stone wall. "I thought… Fuck…I thought you'd try and go there… but he's not there… I don't… he _hurt him_, George! He fucking… the screaming…I…" 

George reached out and dragged his twin against his shoulder as he gave a dry sob. "No… no, it's not your fault…"

"He screamed like… like he was being ripped apart… I just… I can still h-hear it…"

George squeezed his eyes shut and they slid down the wall until they crumpled on the floor, Fred's face still pressed into his shoulder and his breath coming in uncertain, shuddering gasps.

"What _happened_, Fred? Why did you even go there?"

"I just… I wanted to know why… I never meant to get him in trouble, Georgie, I just… God, if you'd heard it…"

"Have you told anyone? We need to tell Harry – and Dumbledore – anyone…"

"They're at the cottage but they can't do anything – Dobby won't tell and they… I thought you were going to go to the _fucking_ Shack and – " Fred slammed the palm of his hand hard against wall in frustration, before scrunching it in his fringe, "What if he's… what if he _kills _him, George?"

"He won't," George told him as confidently as he could manage, gritting his teeth together to force the words out. "He won't. They'll get to him and bring him here and he'll be okay. We'll all be okay, Fred, you listen to me. It's going to be okay."

Fred gave another dry, throaty sob and George held him even tighter, forcing down his own growing anxiety down as far as he could, knowing that if he couldn't be there to reassure his twin now both of them would be liable to breaking later.

~*~

Draco thought he was dreaming at first. She was standing there in the snow, her bare feet and the hem of her white gown glistening as they soaked up the blood from the pulping snow. She glistened, almost, and he supposed that she was an angel, come to take him wherever it was that heretics went. He would have laughed at the irony of those bloody Christians being right if he had had the energy. He couldn't move. All he could see was below her ankles, but it was her voice that eventually identified her to him, softly singing the only song he could remember her singing when he was an infant.

_Hush little baby, don't say a word, mamma's going to buy you a mocking bird…_

"M-m-mama?" he whispered, straining to turn his head and look up at her. She gazed down at him, her golden hair loose and falling about her shoulders, catching the moonlight and giving her an ethereal glow that made him wonder if his father had killed her, too, and she was waiting for him to go with her.

"Shhh," she said, bowing over him and stroking his hair softly; her fingers came away dark. "It's alright, my darling," she whispered and lay something over him. He couldn't identify where it had come from, but it was warm and she was there and if he was going to die at least he would be with his mother. At least Lucius couldn't hurt them any more.

He closed his eyes and he could still hear his mother's voice, but he was floating. There was no snow beneath him any more and he was growing warm. He took a breath and didn't remember any more.

~*~

Harry sat on the door step, hugging his knees; snow drifted down in ever-tightening swirls as the wind picked up. Inside, the adults were preparing to leave. Dumbledore was staying, of course and had already left for the castle; Sirius would be staying, too, but Remus and Snape were going, and to his surprise, from the darkness he made out the tall form of Professor Vector as she strode across the lawns towards him. Her robes wrapped around her strong shoulders and billowed behind her. They were black with tones of dark, midnight blue and she looked forbidding as she approached, her face not even bowed against the wind.

"Potter, you will catch a cold," she said, more softly than her appearance allowed for. "Why aren't you inside?"

Harry sighed and said, "They won't let me go to the Manor."

"Of course they won't," she smiled, her thick, black eyebrows quirking with gentle amusement, "You mean too much to them to lose, Harry."

"But I can _cope_, Professor! I –"

"Oh yes, we know that you can cope with Dark magic, nobody doubts that in the slightest." She reached down a leather-gloved hand and stroked his head, "Could you also cope with seeing your friend badly hurt? Or worse?"

Harry stared up at her, her dark indigo eyes compassionate. He could think of nothing to say.

"It is not that we doubt your skill, but no one would like you to have to endure such things. This way we can be gone as quickly as possible. I am sure Remus would find it hard to concentrate fully if he thought you were in any way endangered. Even if you are capable, his first duty would be to you and not to himself or even Draco. Would you want that risk?"

The door opened behind them and Snape strode out of the living room and into the snow, swishing past Harry impatiently.

"Copia, we are leaving. I trust you are prepared."

"As ever, Severus," she purred with a slight hint of distaste, although a smile quirked at her dark plum lips.

Remus followed more slowly, he stopped behind Harry and took a deep breath. "We won't be long, Harry," he said, even though Harry could hear the lack of conviction in his voice as clearly as the howling wind.

"Take care, Moony," Harry said, staring down at his knees and forcing himself to swallow repeatedly.

"I will. I promise." Suddenly, Remus was crouched beside him, a mittened hand placed between Harry's shoulder blades. "And listen, I don't intend to be gone for very long, but should I be I want you to look after Sirius and make sure he shares the cleaning and things, alright? I know what you're like when it comes to taking responsibility for things that aren't yours. Promise?"

Harry nodded and leaned into Remus, who reached both arms around him and gave him a brief hug. 

"We'll do everything we can for Draco, you know that. You could wake up tomorrow and find him sitting in the kitchen complaining about my cooking."

"Hope so," Harry said, trying to laugh but coming out with a miserable sniff instead.

Remus stood and stepped down into the snow, turning back as Sirius loomed in the door way where he had been previously. They said nothing for a few moments, but suddenly Remus gave a small breath of laughter and held out his arms, a slight smile on his lips, and suddenly Sirius was outside, barefooted in the snow and crushing him in a hug so tight it was a wonder if Remus could breathe at all. It seemed strangely fitting when he bowed down and crushed his lips against Moony's and let go.

"Get back indoors, you fool, your socks are drenched," the shorter man scolded gently.

"I want you back here by day break, Moony."

"Before," he nodded solemnly, giving Sirius a small prod in the direction of the door. Behind them, Snape made a show of great impatience.

"Remember, Harry – make him share," Remus smiled, backing away and joining the others. "I'll see you soon. Love you both."

Harry stood and stepped inside with Sirius, standing in the doorway to watch until they faded in to the darkness. 

"You too."

Harry settled against Sirius' side as he wrapped a protective arm around his shoulders. "They'll be alright," he said, giving a reassuring squeeze.

"I hope."

There was silence for a few moments as they stood there, watching the indistinct forms of the small rescue party disappear into the night.

"I suppose I've got some explaining to do, haven't I?"

"Hm?"

"Well… me and Re… We were going to tell you, there just never quite seemed to be a good time."

"When you kissed him, you mean?"

"Yeah, but… you know we're not just…This isn't messing around, Harry. Remus and me, we're together. A couple."

Harry gave a small laugh and shook his head, "Why doesn't that surprise me?"

"Well, because… Don't you care? We've been worried sick about telling you since we started to sort things out!"

"Why should I care, Padfoot?" Harry asked wearily, leaning against him again, "As long as you don't break up or anything and make me an orphan from a broken home as well I'm just glad you're happy. Someone has to be."

"We weren't happy for a long time, really," Sirius sighed, lifting a hand and rubbing at Harry's hair, "but we are now. Things have been really screwed up for a while, and really that's why we didn't say anything, 'cause we didn't know where it was going and we didn't want you stuck in the middle of all that, but we're happy now. No one's leaving anyone, okay?"

"I hope not…"

"Look, if he can spend twelve years with everyone telling him I killed your mum and dad and still love me like he did when he was fifteen, I –"

"What's that?" Harry asked suddenly, as a yellowish glow appeared in the direction they had been walking.

"I…don't…know…" Sirius said slowly, straightening up and dropping his wand down from the inside of his sleeve.

            Harry copied and squinted into the night for some sign of an explanation. For several minutes there was nothing. They stood and watched the static yellow glow do nothing at all. But then, through the increasingly harsh snow, a figure appeared, almost doubled over against the elements. Behind him was another, tall and confident. 

            "It's Remus and Copia!" Sirius said suddenly, turning around and looking for his boots. He grabbed them from the bottom step of the stairs and dragged them on, "Stay here."

            "Where are you going?" Harry asked anxiously, grabbing his godfather's sleeve.

            "Just to help them. Look at Remus, Harry – he's carrying something that's got to be almost as big as he is – I'm going to help him bring it in, that's all. Just stay here if you want. You'll be able to see us."

            "Okay," Harry nodded, sniffing and wrapping his arms around himself against the cold.

            Sirius jumped down the step into the garden and hurdled the low white fence, almost camouflaged in the slow drifting against it. Harry watched as he ran towards the approaching party, noting that Snape was nowhere to be seen. He held his breath as the dark figure of his godfather reached them and after a moment's hesitating to confer, scooped up the bundle in Remus' arms and turned back towards the cottage.

            Harry's stomach dropped. It was a person. One limb sagged out from underneath the dark cloth in which it was wrapped, and hung pale against the white snow.

            "Oh God."

            Harry didn't breathe again until they were thirty yards away, his heart throbbing in his throat and making him want to be sick. The arm sagging from underneath the blanket or robe or whatever it was, hung at an impossible angle two thirds of the way to the wrist. He stared in horror, drawing a long, shaken breath.

            "Sirius?"

            There was an instantaneous answer through gritted teeth shouted back at him. "Harry, go upstairs."

            "Why?" Harry asked anxiously, stepping down into the snow.

            "I said go upstairs! Now!" Sirius ordered harshly.

            "What's happened?"

            It was Remus who answered this time, holding open the front gate and gazing up at him fretfully. "_Please_, Harry," he pleaded desperately. "Just go to your room."

            Harry stood for a fraction of a second before turning and bolting up the stairs, slamming his bedroom door and diving onto his bed. He curled up tightly around his pillow, wrapped in his arms, a thousand versions of the worst-case scenario flashing behind his closed eyelids. _Oh God, Oh God, Oh God, Oh God, Oh God, Oh God…_

            Sirius laid the limp body down on the sofa, carefully laying the broken arm straight. He stared down at the bundle he had carried, wrapped in a thick, velvet woman's robe. Little was visible, except the fractured limb and a small patch of forehead, striped with dark red, and he dreaded pulling back the cloth to see what lay beneath. He swallowed, and reached out a hand as Copia threw off her own robes and rolled up her sleeves waiting for Remus to bring a bowl of warm water and some rags.

            _What's he done to you, kiddo?_

            He grasped the robe apprehensively and peeled it back, his heart stopping for several seconds as he laid eyes on the broken teenager before him. 

            "Oh God…" he murmured, sinking slowly to his knees beside the couch, and peeling back the cloth further. "Oh fucking hell… what did that bastard do to you, Draco…?"

            The first thing he noticed was the welt across his cheek, a fierce red and smeared in a coating of blood from the cut directly above it, staining the blond hair and plastering it to his scalp in clumps. The boy's lips were swollen and blue with both bruises and cold; his neck was tarnished with bruises in the shape of fingers.

            Sirius ran a hand through his hair and pulled away the rest of the robe.

            The garments beneath were sodden and dirty. The boy was wearing a dark sweater and Sirius was afraid to lift it and see what lay beneath. He was as careful as he could be, but the battered body still uttered an unconscious whimper. Sirius whispered his apologies and pushed the top further up to reveal an oddly misshapen ribcage and bruises the shape of footprints intermingled with thick red welts, some of which had bled, despite obviously being administered through cloth.

            "Oh shit…"

            Sirius glanced behind him to see Remus pale and dumbstruck at the sight before him. The bowl in his hands gave a faint steam and made his expressions shimmer strangely. He realised for the first time that Copia had slumped into the chair beside them and was clutching a bundle of rags so tightly her knuckles were white.

            "Lucius…did this?" she asked, choked. "He would do this to his _son_?"

            "He was always a malicious little bastard, Copia, you knew that."

            She stood and dipped the first rag into the bowl in Remus' hands, before kneeling beside the sofa and gently trying to wipe away some of the blood from his face.

            "I did not know a boy who would do this to his own child!" she insisted, her powerful voice cracking. "Oh, the poor boy… Where is Poppy? What is taking them so long?"

            "Severus… He had to go a long way to the hospital ward, and the storm is getting worse," Remus said, moving closer and setting down the bowl beside them. "I'll get whatever I have for moon nights – but it's not really intended for this…"

            "Anything, Moo – just get anything that might help."

            Remus hurried out of the living room and paused at the bottom of the stairs, closing his eyes and pushing a hand into snow-dampened hair. He had a lump in his throat, and took a deep breath to dispel it, before continuing up the narrow stairs.

            "Remus?" 

            He looked up to see Harry standing in the doorway, pale and obviously terrified.

            "Harry…"

            "What's happened? Is he going to be okay?" The boy's voice was hollow and shaky. He sounded as if he wanted to cry and Remus sympathised wholeheartedly.

            "He's not too good," Remus told him, trying to sound calm but not wanting to lie to him. "His father has been quite brutal and we are just trying to do what we can for him right now. Madam Pomfrey is on her way, she'll take care of everything, okay?"

            "I thought… well, it had to be p-pretty bad because you won't let me see him… Is he going to be alright?"

            Remus took another breath and forced a reassuring smile, "I'm sure he'll be fine. We just have to wait for Poppy. She has always taken care of you in the past, hasn't she?"

            Harry nodded. "I want to see him," he said croakily. "It's me he… I should be _there_ with him…"

            "Not now," Remus told him firmly, stepping nearer and pulling him into a hug. "You have to trust us to know what would really be very bad for you at the moment. Once you have seen someone you care about in that sort of state you never forget it, and I don't want that to happen to you. Not now, and hopefully not ever." He let go and stroked Harry's hair down. "You can see him later. Let Madam Pomfrey take a look first, okay?"

            Harry nodded again and stepped back into the bedroom. "Take care of him, Moony."

            "We'll all do anything we can, Harry. You know that."

            Harry gave a faint smile, "I know you will…" he said, and closed the door quietly.

~*~

Harry didn't sleep all night. Instead, he listened to the howling blizzard and faint sound of voices downstairs, wishing that he could be there, helping. His stomach cramped with worry and his head was filled with grotesque ideas at what may have happened, what state Draco might be in. Even when the snow died down to a pretty sprinkle and it began to get light, Harry still didn't sleep. He heard the murmur of voices in the hall and soft, careful footsteps creeping up the stairs. It sounded like they went into Remus' room and he resisted the urge to run out and try and catch a glimpse of Draco. Instead, he waited until all was quiet and he heard footsteps descend the stairs again before crawling out from under the blankets and quietly making his way down stairs.

            Sirius was slumped down on the sofa, one hand covering his face, tiredly. It sounded as though Remus was in the kitchen, the faint rhythmic tinging of a teaspoon against ceramic a familiar sound in moments of anxiety.

            "How is he?"

            Sirius jumped slightly as Harry spoke and fluttered his eyes open. He looked at him for a moment, before giving him an exhausted smile, "He's okay. He'll live, anyway."

            Harry moved nearer and curled up on the opposite end of the sofa, huddled against the corner and picking up a cushion to clutch to his chest. "What was the damage? Was it serious? I mean, I saw his arm and it looked broken…"

            Sirius sighed and rubbed the side of his forehead with the heel of his hand and said, "Yeah… it was. It's not any more, though. Neither are all the ribs that got stamped on."

            "What?" Harry asked, leaning forward and frowning in disbelief.

            "Lucius fucking Malfoy is a vicious bastard. What did you expect?"

            Remus walked in at that point, carrying three mugs and handing the first out to Harry. "I didn't _think_ you'd slept," he sighed. "How are you?"

            "Exhausted." He took the mug and cradled it in his hands; "Thanks."

            "You really ought to try and get some sleep; this hasn't been a pleasant experience for anyone."

            "Even those of us that remember seeing other people in that kind of state." 

            Sirius gave Remus a very pointed look and took the mug out of his hand.

            "No. Even then."

            "But how bad is it? Is he going to be scarred? He'd hate that…"

            Remus grimaced slightly. "I think we counted a total of forty-three separate marks from what must have been that ridiculous cane of Lucius' alone. Draco has a lot of bruises that will thankfully disappear shortly, if Madam Pomfrey's remedies do their job as expected, and then we should see the rest. He had a cut or two on his head, ones that will be covered by his hair and which looked a lot worse than they were. They were healed with magic, so they shouldn't scar too badly."

            "Made a bloody lot of mess, though…"

            Remus gave a reluctant nod of agreement and sipped his tea.

            "But what I don't understand is how he _got_ here – how did he manage - ?"

            "Knight Bus," Remus said, sighing heavily. "Narcissa seems to have managed to bundle him up and get him on board. That boy – Stu Shun-something?"

            "Stan Shunpike," Harry corrected.

            "Yes, that's it – he was very concerned. He said she was standing in the snow with bare feet in the middle of nowhere and this bundle of black cloth with what he thought was a child in it. He thought that Draco must be around twelve… And that Narcissa was mad."

            "She is…" Harry murmured, thinking about her and wondering whether she was safe herself. "She doesn't know day from night, most of the time…"

            "Well, let's just be thankful that she got him here at all. Goodness knows what state she must be in herself, now."

            The three of them sat in contemplative silence for several minutes until Harry mumbled, "I'm so glad he's safe…" his head resting against the back of the chair, his eyes drifted closed. "I thought I was going to lose him."

            "He's safe, he's not going anywhere," Remus said softly, taking the mug from Harry's hands and setting it down where it wouldn't spill. He pulled the unused blanket from the back of the armchair and tucked it around him, carefully. Glancing at Sirius, he gave a small, wistful smile and said, "Get some rest, God knows you need it."

            But Harry was already asleep.

~*~

At nine o'clock, when Harry had barely been asleep a couple of hours, there was a knock at the front door and Remus rushed to open it, not wanting Harry to be disturbed. He was momentarily surprised to find two identical flame-haired figures standing on the doorstep, before his sleep-deprived mind recalled their involvement in all of this.

            "Good morning," he said, offering a strained smile.

            "Um, hello," the foremost of the pair said, with something like a grimace. His brother stood slightly behind, looking, from what Remus knew of the twins, uncharacteristically withdrawn. "Is Harry there?"

            "He's sleeping," Remus told them, pulling the living room door shut so as not to wake him, "last night wasn't particularly easy. I'm glad to see you're both safe. We were worried when you bolted, Fred." He didn't know which twin to look at as he spoke, and covered this by glancing behind him towards the top of the stairs.

            "Sorry…" Fred replied, and Remus noted that he was the quieter of the two, this morning. It was hardly surprising.

            "How's Draco?" George asked, with what seemed like suppressed anxiety. "Did you get him back?"

            "It's a long and convoluted story, and even we do not know the full extent of what happened, yet, but he is here. He's also asleep, though, I'm afraid. I don't know when he'll wake up."

            "Oh…" the disappointment was evident in George's expression, and Fred placed a sympathetic hand on his shoulder, briefly, before turning away slightly and expelling a long breath in a gust of steam.

            Remus sighed and stepped back into the house, they both looked pale and shaken and there were so few people up at the castle at the moment… He took pity on them and said, "Look, why don't you come in? If he wakes you'll be the first to know that way."

            Both boys' faces lit up a little and they immediately walked in, stomping snow off their feet on the doorstep as they did so.

            Remus raised a finger to his lips and quietly opened the living room door, leading them through to the kitchen and closing that door behind them. "Have you had breakfast? You both look terribly off-colour… I can make you some toast, if you're hungry?"

            The boys half-glanced at each other, before giving identical shrugs and shaking their heads. It was extraordinarily unnerving.

            "Not really hungry, thanks," one of them – he thought it was George – sighed as he pulled out a chair and sank into it. His twin followed immediately.

            "Can I ask you boys something?" Remus said, leaning back against the worktop and brushing his hair out of his eyes.

            They shrugged and nodded together.

            "What were you doing at the Shack? Don't misunderstand me – I'm not interrogating you or in any way telling you off for what you have all been doing, but… it seems to me, from what Harry – and also you, Fred – well, it just seems to have gone beyond simple duty. I can't quite fathom what has been going on, here – "

            "He saved Ron's life, isn't that enough?"

            Two pairs of hazel eyes looked up at him with a defensive challenge that made him squirm, slightly. He was reminded of the sort of horror films they watched in their youth. In fact, that had been Sirius' reaction the first time they had spoken about Draco; _'Can you imagine a Malfoy family reunion? It'd be less like the Addams Family than bloody Village of the Damned!'_ This, however, felt like being stuck in _Gormenghast_.

            Remus blinked and realised that they were staring at him. "O-of course it is… yes. But for people who have been on opposite sides of a feud for – well, since before you were even born – "

            "They started it, we're ending it, Professor," George said flatly, running a freckled finger along a crack in the table. "We changed. All of us. Draco and Gavin Cross hate each other, but he was still part of it. He still went with Harry to see Draco almost every night – "

            "Wonder why…" Fred muttered into his hand, staring out of the window.

            "And Draco…" George stopped, frowning, digging a half-bitten nail into the break in the wood, "I'm not saying we forgive him for _everything_, but…"

            Fred somehow seemed to be closer to his brother without moving anything but his head, now looking back at Remus, again, "Some things shouldn't be dragged up once they're over, should they?"

            "He's alright, when you get to know him… No, he's _more_ than alright – he's funny and brainy and I like him, now… He's not like we thought he was." 

            "He can tell us apart," Fred added, tilting his head and looking at his brother contemplatively for a moment as he hunched over the table and concentrated on fiddling with nothing, then looked up at Remus and gave him a long stare. "Not many people can."

            "No," Remus replied, feeling a peculiar hesitance towards them and reminding himself that he hadn't slept in twenty-six hours, "I'm sorry to say that I'm not one of them. But I agree with you about Draco, he is a good person, but he has spent a ridiculous amount of time cultivating a caricature of what he feels he should have been and, rather in the way people have difficulty distinguishing between the two of you, people seem to have a lot of trouble distinguishing between the 'real' Draco and the one he wants us to see."

            "Exactly," George nodded, sighing and rubbing his eyes. Fred patted him supportively on the shoulder and leaned back in his chair.

            "I still don't really get it, to be honest, but if this one says he's alright…" Fred gave a faint smirk, tapping the backrest of his brother's chair, "I s'pose he must be."

            "He is," George told them firmly.

            "I know, mate," Fred nodded, swinging his knee to the side to bump against his brother's leg companionably. He sighed and explained, "Me and George had a bit of a fight about stuff, yesterday. That's why I was at the Shack but he wasn't…"

            "We never fight," the other boy added quietly, half glancing at his twin apologetically.

            "Well," Remus began, trying to smile supportively, "it seems things are cleared up now, and the best of us fight with the people closest to us – "

            "Not us."

            "Ah… well, the – well, the thing is, when you've been very close to someone for a very long time it begins to get to a stage where you both tire of having no alternative to their company. You develop differences in taste, perhaps – "

            "No," Fred said, frowning dejectedly, "we're not growing apart."

            From the way his shoulders sank and he looked away, Remus thought that perhaps George disagreed. He was very grateful that the door opened behind them at that point and a groggy-looking Harry wandered in.

            "You let me _sleep_!" he complained, rubbing his hair tiredly and looking like a small child as he awkwardly tried to put his glasses on.

            "You were tired, Harry," Remus said gently, "You needed the rest."

            "But what if something _happened_? I wouldn't know." He stopped and stared at the two red-heads before him as if he had just realised they were there, "Oh. Hello."

            "Alright?" they nodded simultaneously.

            "Have you come to see Draco?"

            "Yeah… is he okay?"

            "Dunno," Harry replied, giving Remus a slightly disgruntled look, "I'm not allowed to see him, yet."

            "Do you want something to eat, Harry?" Remus asked lightly, wanting an excuse to do something – anything – other than just stand there.

            "Mm… toast?"

            "Toast it is. Fred, George?"

            "No, ta."

            Remus wondered how they managed to speak so perfectly in synchronisation so often; he and Sirius may have their weird quirks, but this was just plain… bizarre.

            Harry sat down at the table and rested his elbows on it, tangling both hands in his hair. He had crease marks from the back of the sofa on his cheek and dark smudges beneath his eyes.

            "You look like shit, man," Fred said, patting him on the shoulder.

            "So would you, if you had been up all night worried about your best mate," Harry snapped back.

            "We were," George replied, through slightly gritted teeth. "You're not the only mate he has, you know."

            Harry and George stared at each other for several moments, expressions hard and challenging.

            "Oh, cut it out!" Fred huffed finally. "I'm not putting up with more bloody grief from you two as well. People are allowed more than one friend in the world, you know."

            "My sentiments exactly," Remus agreed. "I'm glad to see that Draco does have friends to worry about him at times like this, but I'm entirely certain that he wouldn't want you to bicker about it."

            "There's plenty of him to go around," Fred smirked.

            This time it was Harry and George who spoke together, crying "Shut _up_!" in identical scandalised tones.

            "What the hell's going on down here?" Sirius demanded as he strode into the room. "I can hear you all the bloody way upstairs! The kid's asleep, have some respect!"

            "Is he alright, Siri?" Harry asked, looking up at him, hopefully. "Can I go up and see him, yet?"

            Sirius and Remus looked at each other.

            "Er… I don't know about that, Harry…"

            "Why not? I'll be really quiet, I promise, I just want to see him."

            "Can I go, too?" George asked immediately.

            Harry cast him a slightly annoyed look.

            "You shouldn't really crowd him, boys – if he wakes up it could be a little disorientating at first to have so many people around him…"

            "And the kid looks like he's been trampled by fucking wildebeest or something, you'll all be having nightmares for weeks."

            "Don't patronise me," Harry snapped back, "I saw Cedric Diggory _die_ six months ago."

            "Yeah, and that's exactly why we don't want to put you through this again."

            "You're trying to molly coddle me again!"

            "Harry…"

            "Draco's my _friend_ and I'm the only friend he has – I should be there!"

            "You're _not_ the only friend he has," George corrected, scowling.

            "Fine," Sirius said, irritably, "Go on, piss off upstairs. Just don't come running to me when you have nightmares, alright?"

            Harry and George were already half-way out of the door; Fred stood up more slowly, and cast them both men apprehensive look before sighing heavily and following.

Harry and George raced into Remus' bedroom and straight over to the bed, Harry falling to his knees and leaning on the mattress and George carefully perching on the edge. They leaned over the other boy, gazing in horrified disbelief at the large patch of purple across the usually pale skin of his face, the swollen lip and the thin red lines where cuts had been turned to fresh scar tissue.

            "Fuck."

            "Not while I'm in this state."

            Both boys gasped as Draco opened first one puffy eye, and then the other, looking up at them with what might have been a smirk. His voice was breathy and quiet, but unmistakeably Draco.

            "Draco, you're awake!"

            "Are you alright, mate? What happened?"

            "We were so worried!"

            "Well, it's hard to maintain unconsciousness when it sounds like there's a riot happening downstairs."

            "What? We weren't that loud…"

            "Where's your brother, George?" Draco asked, ignoring their questions.

            George glanced over his shoulder to where Fred was leaning against the door frame. Apprehensively, the other boy straightened and moved nearer the bed.

            "Hey," he said uncomfortably.

            "You alright, Weasley?"

            "_Me?_" Fred asked in surprise. "I… well, yeah, I'm fine. Glad to know you're okay, that's all."

            "I wanted to make sure you escaped. I thought he may have sent someone after you."

            The three boys looked at each other. 

            "Um… no… not that we know of."

            "What did he _do_ to you, Drac?" George asked, grimacing slightly.

            "He punished me," Draco said simply, a laugh falling into a wracking cough.

            "But I don't get how you made it back here – you look like you should've been half dead – you can't've escaped on your own…"

            "He didn't," Harry told them, quietly. "His mother put him on the Knight Bus and sent him here."

            "_What_?" both twins asked in disbelief.

            Draco stared up at the ceiling and swallowed, "Mama never did agree with his methods."

            "But you're safe, now. Moony and Padfoot will keep you safe – no one can hurt you any more," Harry said, reaching out and talking Draco's hand. The Twins glanced at each other.

            "Yes, but what about my mother?" Draco said, and they all knew it was not a question they should even attempt to answer.

Many hours later, after the other boys had left, Draco insisted upon getting out of bed and eating his soup sitting on the sofa in the living room. He was cocooned in blankets and Harry sat beside him, holding the bowl because he refused to allow anyone to feed him. Sirius and Remus watched from the kitchen doorway as they taunted each other with light put-downs and Draco threatened to throw spoonfuls of chicken soup into Harry's hair.

            "Well," Remus sighed, closing the door and settling at the table, "looks like things are largely back to normal, then."

            Sirius pulled up a chair to sit beside him and slid an arm around his shoulders, "Except you haven't slept, Harry knows about us, and we still don't know the story of what the dear boy got up to in the Valleys."

            "You know what I mean…"

            Sirius smiled and kissed his temple, "Yeah, I do. Are _you_ okay, Moo? I know it's nearly the Full and all that – if you want to go to bed I can take care of Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dee."

            "Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dee? You should spend some time alone with Fred and George Weasley when you haven't slept! I kept expecting Steerpike to walk in at any moment!"

            "Nah, they're okay, they just sort of pull together to protect each other. Fred was pretty hysterical last night… Strange, really, considering it's the other one who's such good mates with Draco…"

            "Yes, well, when you've heard someone suffer the effects of Cruciatus it's difficult to maintain a level head."

            "I know."

            Remus sighed and leaned against the other man's shoulder. "Look, Siri, about sleeping arrangements…"

            "Don't worry about that, I'll stay down here, you have my room."

            "No, listen, I was going to say that we should put the boys in the same room. Harry's bedroom is big enough and we could just make up an extra bed, like we did before."

            Sirius grimaced, "I dunno about that, Moo, have you actually _watched_ those two together? I don't reckon they'd take much encouragement – you fancy playing agony aunt with that one, eh?"

            "I think we can trust Harry…"

            "Pfft! I think we can trust blondie more than we can trust Harry, myself," Sirius replied incredulously. "I love the kid, you know that, but I think that putting him in the same room as Draco is asking for trouble. If him and the Welsh kid are already at it…"

            "I think that Gavin means more to Harry than that. I don't think he'd betray him."

            "Well, if you say so…" Sirius shrugged and leaned down to kiss him. "You sure you don't want to go to bed?"

            "What about you? You haven't slept either."

            "I can live with it. You look like you're going to fall down if you don't just go to bed soon."

            "But it's only seven o'clock…"

            "And what's that? Thirty-six hours since you last slept? Go on, Moony, I'll take care of the kids."

            Remus smiled at him, gratefully and stood up. Sirius followed and slid his arms around him, Remus' head resting tiredly against his shoulder. "It has been a pretty awful few days, hasn't it?"

            "Yeah, but we made it. Again. Maybe we should advertise as superheroes and do kids' parties or something."

            Remus laughed quietly and let go.

            When Sirius climbed the stairs a couple of hours later, the boys already exhausted and arranged in their matching camp beds on Harry's floor, the doors locked and warded and the fire put out, he walked into his bedroom to find his single bed stretched almost to a double, and Remus sleeping peacefully in full pyjamas. Chuckling softly to himself, he kicked off his jeans and pulled off his jumper before climbing into the bed and curling up around him. Almost immediately, exhaustion hit him and he closed his eyes, drifting into a contented sleep.

            In the room next door Harry was already fast asleep; he didn't even wake when Draco awkwardly dragged his feather mattress nearer and curled up beside him, but he reached out in his slumber and found the other boy's hand. For the first time in weeks, Draco closed his eyes and felt safe enough to sleep.

~*~

It was two days later that Draco was summoned to the headmaster's office. His bruises had largely faded, assisted by the tonics and serums Madam Pomfrey had come to the cottage to administer, or taught Remus to apply. His arm still ached, but he could use it well enough. The red mark down his face made him self-conscious. He had been assured that the scar would fade to nothing, but it still looked ugly and made him feel foolish for not having at least tried to react against his father; for not using the one thing he could do that his father couldn't and burned him to a crisp. He wasn't like George or Fred who would have worn it with heroic stoicism, and he wasn't like Harry who would have just ignored it altogether. He just hated having the reminder there every time he looked in the mirror, or caught sight of his reflection in Harry's glasses.

            "Come in," Dumbledore's voice said with unusual gravity when he knocked at the door. Apprehensively, Draco twisted the bronze doorknob and stepped inside. Instantly, his heart felt like it had frozen. He stood, rooted with terror, as he laid eyes on the regal form of his father, standing before the headmaster's desk. As soon as he regained control of himself he staggered back, intending to run, but Dumbledore spoke and told him to stay.

            "Draco, please do not leave, we have some rather saddening news."

            It was only then that Draco saw a short, fat man sitting on the pink sofa. Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic himself, was in Dumbledore's office with his father. His head swam and for a moment he thought he might faint; his chest felt as though it were being constricted and he couldn't breathe, but he stood his ground and tried to be as brave as he could.

            "Draco," his father began, without turning to face him, "you are to come home at once, there has been a _dreadful_ incident at the Manor. Your mother is dead."

            Draco clenched his jaw so tightly it hurt.

            "Well," Fudge said impatiently, "aren't you going to say something, boy? Your mother is dead – the poor woman threw herself off of the roof because of your frightful behaviour – attacking your father and running away in the middle of the night, indeed! I hear you have been spending time in rather… _questionable_ company, recently. Evidently Mr Potter's inclinations have worn off on you already."

            Draco wanted to say something, he really did. He wanted to scream, '_No! You killed her!'_ and he wanted to tell Fudge that Lucius Malfoy was a murderer, a Death Eater and a child beater, but he simply couldn't. There was a lump the size of an orange stuck in his throat and the edge of his vision was foggy and out of focus.

            "Draco," Dumbledore's hushed voice said gently, "do you have anything to say?"

            Draco stared at him for a few moments, feeling as though he was standing outside of himself, watching a scene in a play he didn't know the plot of, and he shook his head.

            "Draco, you are to return to the Manor with me this afternoon," his father's voice said unemotionally, snapping him into reality.

            "N-no," he said, backing away desperately towards the wooden door. "No, I won't!" He looked to Dumbledore imploringly, "I can't – Professor – "

            "Oh, don't be ridiculous, boy," Fudge snapped. "You will return home with your father, you ungrateful child. There will be arrangements to be made; you mustn't create difficulties for your father at such a trying time."

            "Cornelius, that is quite enough!" Dumbledore said sharply. "I will remind you that this is _my_ school."

            "Dumbledore, you may be headmaster of this school, but as the Minister of Magic technically, it is mine. Now, this boy will return home with his father today, I forbid you to keep him here."

            "But I'm sixteen – I can stay here if I want to!"

            "On the contrary, you may do so only with your father's consent, which you evidently do not have."

            "But look at me!" Draco cried, gesturing to his face and pulling up a sleeve to reveal a dark line across his forearm. "He did this to me! Lucius Malfoy is a Death Eater and he tried to kill me because – "

            "The boy is clearly hysterical," Lucius said, shaking his head and sighing. "It is hardly surprising, considering the news he has just received, the poor child." He moved nearer to Draco and Draco backed away until he felt the solid wood of the door pressing against his spine. "Come, my boy, come home. I know that it is terribly sad, what has happened to us, but your mother was unwell, and has been for many years. Perhaps it is for the best that she has moved on. We must be strong, now. After all, all we have in this world, now, is each other."

            "No," Draco choked out, shaking his head. "No, you killed her and you tried to kill me. I won't. You're one of them – you want to give me to Voldemort, that's the only reason you're here."

            "Ridiculous!" Fudge snorted. "The boy is obviously as disturbed as his mother."

            Lucius reached out to lay a hand on Draco's shoulder and Draco instantly engulfed himself in flames.

            "Get away from me," he warned, reaching for the doorknob. "Get away from me right now."

            "Draco, stop that this instant. Don't force me to restrain you; you know how awful that makes me feel."

            "Liar!" Draco shouted back, "You're a murderer – you killed grandma and Lilith and now you've killed Mama, too! I hate you!" He wrenched open the door and fled down the steps, a commotion behind him delaying his father's pursuit. He burst out into the corridor and was horrified to find Harry standing there, waiting for him. "Run!" he gasped, grabbing Harry's wrist and pulling him with him as the footsteps on the stairs grew closer, "My father is here!"

            Immediately, Harry yanked him through a tapestry and down some stairs. "This way… this way, we can get away…"

            They ran as fast as they could, the hairs on the back of their necks standing on end. There was no way they would get to the cottage – the huge expanse of lawn would expose them to any curse Lucius chose to throw at them – Gryffindor Tower had people in – they couldn't lead a psychotic Death Eater there, but there was one very risky thing that they _could _do. Harry led him towards South Tower. There would be only two places they could go from there. Back the way they had come, or over the edge. Certain death on the rocks below.

            "Harry, where are you going?" Draco asked helplessly as Harry threw open the door to the tower and began to run up.

            "We have to get to the top of the tower, Draco, trust me, we can get away from there."

            "Are you mad? It's a sheer drop!" the other boy said, halting and grabbing at Harry's jumper. "We'll both be killed!"

            "No we won't, come on."

            "But – "

            "I managed it at the Triwizard Tournament, didn't I?" Harry asked, wrenching at Draco's hand. "I'll summon my broom – it's the best chance we have – we'd never get out of the building, otherwise!"

            Grey eyes stared up at him uncertainly, "You'd better hope this works, Harry," he breathed, and began to rush up the stairs again, still a little weak from his injuries.

            By the time they reached the heavy wooden door to the roof they were both out of breath, their legs feeling like lead and barely able to run another step. Harry pushed open the door and led the way out on to the turreted roof, the words of the summoning charm repeating over and over in his head. His stomach plummeted. Standing near the edge, the wind picking up his pale hair, stood Lucius Malfoy. He turned, slowly, his sharp features hitched in a superior smirk, his wand already drawn and rested upon his folded arms.

            "Oh _dear_, we are frightfully predictable for the saviour of all wizard kind, aren't we, _Harry_?"

            Harry moved instinctively into the doorway, blocking Draco within the tower, and drew his wand. "We are frightfully _up ourselves_ for a child-beating murderer, aren't we, Lucy?" he replied, through gritted teeth.

            Lucius Malfoy laughed, a cold, terrifying sound, and suddenly, Harry found himself being tied by bonds he couldn't fight, wrapping his hands and feet together and causing him to stumble; but before he hit the floor he was floating, drifting silently to hang over the stone edge of the tower wall, suspended in mid-air above jagged rocks, hundreds of feet below.

            "Well, _that_ was rather easy," Lucius smirked, giving his wand a small twist, and causing Harry to begin to spin, whirling out of control. "What would you say, Draco? Eleven out of ten?"

            Harry was beginning to feel sick. His glasses had fallen off, probably dashed to pieces on the rocks below. _No 'Occulus Reparo' on them this time._ All he could see was a blur of grey stone and the occasional glimpse of a pale-haired figure, he couldn't even tell which was which any more. He closed his eyes and decided he'd rather not know. He had enough to look at with his life flashing before his eyes, anyway. It made a pretty depressing movie.

            "Daddy?"

            Draco's voice sounded strangely distorted by the motion, but Harry clung to it, the one thing proving that he was still conscious.

            "Yes, Draco?" Lucius' voice said lightly.

            "Can I do it?"

            "Do what, exactly?"

            "Can I hurt him?"

            Harry's eyes flashed open, but all he could see now were rapidly revolving clouds. Lucius laughed and Harry felt himself rise and plummet several feet.

            "May I, father?"

            "This is a rather sudden change of heart, Draco. I wonder what on _Earth_ could have brought this on."

            "I know, father, I'm very sorry. I just realised what I should always have known – that you will always be greater than _Harry Potter_. The way you captured him so quickly and cleverly, it was magnificent. I only did it for the power, father. Potter seemed invincible and you always taught me that power was All. I was only seeking the power, father, just as you taught me."

            "Dear, dear, Draco – didn't you trust me?" Lucius' voice asked, and Harry felt his stomach lurch again.

            "I'm sorry, father – I understand, now. I was wrong and I want to prove it. Put him down and let me show you. I need to practise my Cruciatus. Then we can take him home and show him to our Master – I think he'd be terribly pleased with us."

            "Why, yes, I think he would."

            "And then we can start getting ready for the ritual. You can tell me again how special it will make me to be a part of him."

            Suddenly, something clicked for Harry, and he realised what he should have known straight away. "Draco!" he yelled. "Draco, please – don't do this! Don't trust him!" 

            He cried out as he felt a moderate electric shock zap through him.

            "I suggest you _shut up_, Potter," Draco's voice spat, "In light of our little 'truce' I might be tempted to make this quick for you – if you beg me nicely."

            Lucius' laugh echoed against the wall, reverberating for several seconds. Harry suddenly felt himself crash hard against stone and gasped for air as the wind was knocked out of him. He felt someone close by and flickered his eyes open to see a hazy image of Draco standing over him, wand raised.

            "Well, then," Lucius' voice said, appraisingly, "There, you have him – show me what you can do, boy. Or were you not expecting your little trick to work quite like this?"

            Draco said nothing and looked up at his father from behind his hair.

            "Go on, you pathetic little fool, 'hurt him' – or me – or are you too afraid? Perhaps you need a little incentive."

            Harry strained to see the expression on Draco's face and wished like never before that he still had his glasses. Lucius moved closer to his son and lay an arm around his shoulders, forcing him to look down at Harry.

            "What would you say if I agreed to spare _dear_ Harry's Life, hm?"

            Draco snapped his head to the side, listening.

            "Let us say that maybe, if you should could find it in your cowardly little heart to keep your promise and hurt him, I should let him go and just take you?"

            "What?"

            "It's really quite simple, Draco," Lucius elaborated. "You have failed me so appallingly in every test I ever set you that I am giving you one last chance to redeem yourself. This will eclipse every beast and Muggle you took pity on, every mortifying tear you shed when faced with the sort of challenge your peers in our Lord's Family would have considered nothing worse than a bee sting. Each time you failed me has been duly noted; indeed, you proved to be more pathetic, even, than any _woman_ our family has ever seen. It's such a pity I killed your sister when clearly she would have been the one to bring honour to our name; all you have brought is shame.

            "Now make your choice, hurt the boy sufficiently and let him live, or fail yet again, and die together."

            There was silence for several moments. No birds sang, no wind howled around the tower; the three of them remained perfectly still, Harry bound on the floor, Lucius' arm still around Draco's shoulders.

            "There is another way," Draco's voice said evenly, at last.

            "Oh really?" Lucius laughed mockingly. "And what would this be?"

            "I could just hurt _you_."

            "Really? And how do you plan to do that? You barely have the nerve to speak to me. You certainly do not deserve my patience, and it is quickly wearing thin."

            "You never deserved to breathe the same air as your mother or mine, but you did," Draco whispered.

            Lucius gave a mock-gasp, "Oh Draco, I am _wounded_ that you would say such a thing. Of course, neither of them are breathing at all, these days, are they? I ceased their breathing, and shortly I shall stop yours, too. It seems rather fitting that falling should herald the demise of all of you; particularly as you fell long before I pushed."

            "They'll prove that you're a murderer, that way. You won't get away – there are only two ways down from here, remember?"

            "Oh yes, and only one of us will be talking the less direct. It will be another suicide, of course. You were distraught at losing your mother, you poor child. I tried to stop you, I really did, but you were too quick and you threw yourself over the side… Just here, you see?" He forcibly led Draco to the edge and held him forward at what looked like a precarious angle. Harry could see Draco's arms flailing for a moment before he regained his composure and pressed them to his side. "And I shall be the anguished unfortunate who has lost his _beloved_ wife and his _treasured_ son in a matter of hours. It really is enough to make a grown man cry, wouldn't you agree, Draco?"

            "You'll never get away with it."

            "Oh, but I will!" Lucius laughed with cruel delight. "That is the very icing upon this delectable little cake of ours. I am a respected – revered – member of society, and you are just two irrational little boys. Dead ones."

            "You said you wouldn't kill Harry," Draco hissed through his teeth. "But then you always were all words and no action, _Daddy_."

            Draco gave a small cry as he was jerked forward, his knees pressed against the turret wall. Even Harry could see that all it would take is a small push and he would be gone. He felt as though his stomach was being twisted in knots.

            "Dear, oh dear, Draco. So very gullible! Did you honestly believe I would let him _live_ simply because you thought you had struck a deal? Grown ups do not make deals with children. They merely abuse their children's blind trust for them, nothing more than a means to and end. Just as I did. Do you have any final words? Perhaps a confession or a witticism? Maybe you would like to beg pathetically for your life? Or maybe you would like to profess your immortal love to our delightfully mortal friend once more?"

            "I won't need to," Draco said, straightening up as much as he could in his father's grip and turning to face him, "you're the one who's taking the fast way down."

            Lucius laughed, his voice arrogant and scornful, "Is that so?" 

            Draco looked up at him for a moment, before whispering, "Yes."

            There was a flash of light and an agonised scream as Draco pulled away, leaving his father's robes engulfed in flame. The blazing figure staggered backwards, screaming and screaming the way people did when Cruciatus was put on them. Harry choked on the smell of burning hair and closed his eyes. He didn't want to see this.

            He felt detached with his eyes closed, as if it wasn't real, just a collection of sounds and tricks being played on his senses. There was a scuffle and the sound of the door flying open and then the scream began to fade. Harry opened his eyes to see Draco sinking to his knees; there was no mistaking the sound of sobbing.


	15. Chapter XIII All That's Left

**Chapter XIII**

**All That's Left**

_"And we never know how to feel…" Buffseeds_

"If you could just look into the mirror there, Mr Potter, that's right. Now if you can read the smallest line you see for me?"

"A?"

"No, Mr Potter, the smallest line."

"Yes, 'A'. Did you put this thing on right?" Harry shifted at the ridiculously huge contraption that had been placed in front of his face. "Even the 'A' is out of focus…"

"Really?" the optomewizard asked, perplexed. He shuffled over and put a couple of lenses into the contraption. "How about now."

"A, Q, B… F?"

"P, Mr Potter. Have you been watching that dreadful Muggle television?"

"No. Can we just get on with this? Just give me the glasses and let me go home."

"Harry, there's no need to be rude. I'm sorry – Harry's had a difficult few days."

"Don't I know it…" Harry muttered, intending to cast Remus a dark look but hindered by the arm of the apparatus stuck in front of his face.

"Now?"

"L-O-L-O-A-Q-I-C-I-8-2-Q-B-4-I-P?"

Remus barely suppressed a burst of laughter.

"There's no need to be facetious, Mr Potter."

"Can I just pick the glasses, yet?"

"_Smallest_ _line_ please, Mr Potter."

Harry was not having a good day.

"If you really think I'm putting that anywhere near my mouth, you've got another thing coming, Weasley. I've had more than enough trauma recently, thank you."

"Oh come on – it'll be fun!"

"For you, yes. I have no desire to turn myself into a Canary of Doom. I saw what you did to Longbottom. That must've been the twentieth time since last summer. It's only funny when it happens to Someone Who Isn't Me, now put it away."

George tutted and muttered, "Spoil sport" before stuffing the bag of biscuits back into the pocket of his Muggle army anorak. "D'you reckon if we snuck them on to a display in Honeydukes someone would buy some?"

"Why would anyone buy custard creams when they can buy chocolate?"

"You bloody girl!"

"Not girl – _Slytherin_. It's the basic logic of the juvenile mind – biscuits are boring."

"Well, _I'm_ bored."

"And I'm miserable, so shut up."

George looked more chastised that he really should have done from the tone of Draco's voice, and said, "Well… I need to get a couple more presents, I s'pose… seeing as it's Christmas in about ten hours anyway…"

"Fine. Where?"

"Um… I don't know. Is there anywhere you need to go?"

Draco shrugged and turned his eyes to gaze at the shimmering fairy lights from one of the nearby awnings, "I have all mine. It's not as if I have any family to buy for, is it?"

"Well… you've got Harry…"

"I bought his months ago," Draco told him petulantly.

"Oh. Well… um… Morgana's then? I need something for Gin."

"I suppose."

"Come on," George said with a heavy sigh, wrapping an arm loosely around his shoulders, "I'll buy you a drink, after."

Morgana's was a decidedly pink and fluffy shop full of kitch plastic trinkets and synthetic feathers. Draco was hard-pressed to deny that the multi-lock journals with their psychedelic mock-Escher covers made him want to buy several and write his innermost drivel in them in fluorescent ink from glittered quills. He blushed and pretended to look at the fun-fur picture frames trotting around the shelf when George selected the one he liked to buy for his sister, along with a selection of small boxes and one larger one. He hoped it wasn't one of those faux crystal balls that all the girls had at the moment. He'd seen them in the Slytherin common room, hunched over smoky glass with letters glowing in the mist inside declaring, "Yes!" or "He likes you!" or the cringe-inducing, "You will marry a dark-haired man with a recognisable mark". Unless they were planning on having a sex change and instigating extensive law re-forms Draco sincerely doubted it. He would have to disown the red-headed pillock for having no concept of When Teeny Goes Too Far if he really had bought one. Besides, the little idiot would probably die on the spot if she received that last prediction…

Hogsmeade looked pretty in the mid afternoon light; it was approaching twilight and the coloured glow of fairy lights hovering around the awnings and windows of buildings and sitting in fir trees outside shop doors gave the whole place such a comforting, seasonal feel as they made their way through the snow on their way to the pub, coming close to falling over on patches that had compacted into ice and grabbing at each other to keep their balance. It was impossible to keep from laughing, at times, and when they finally reached the old tavern they were both flushed and grinning and they sat down at a table in the corner by the Christmas tree, with their drinks.

George had been working hard to keep Draco distracted. The Slytherin had stoically carried on as if everything was okay, but after what had happened two days before it was insane to think that anyone could be anything other than royally screwed up. This was exactly what Percy did back when… well, when they had been through losing someone. It wasn't healthy. Percy hadn't always been the anal little moron he was now… He used to be quite fun, sometimes… It was like all the fun stuff in him died with Archie. George didn't want that to happen to anyone else; so he did what he could. And it wasn't much, but it was a damn sight more that he'd seen Harry doing since.

"Drac?"

The blond boy had been in a rambling daydream – spouting off about the necessity of a substitute for wormwood in some potion or other, but now he stopped abruptly and looked up at him as if he was mildly surprised to see him there.

"D'you wanna talk?"

"I… was."

"No, you weren't. You were going off on one."

Draco's earnest gaze faltered for a second and he looked back down at his butterbeer blankly. "I'm fine. I wanted the man dead. He's dead. Problem solved."

"Yeah, but… so's your mum."

Draco froze for a moment and George knew he'd hit the right button; he just wasn't sure what this one did. The Slytherin seemed to be ignoring the question, at first, but then he murmured:

"She's better off this way."

George frowned a bit and shook his head. He didn't know much about Draco's mother except that he clearly viewed her as some kind of demi-goddess; it didn't seem right that he was so blasé about her death. "Yeah, but what about you, mate?" he asked. "Are _you_ alright?"

"I'm fine."

"Bollocks!" There was no way on this Earth that Draco was fine and George could see that a mile off. "I don't think you're doing yourself any favours pretending, either. You've been trying really hard all day and I've really sort of been encouraging you, I s'pose, but... Look, if you need to talk or anything…"

The other boy glanced up at him and muttered, "Yes, I know. But no thanks."

George watched frustratedly as the blond boy took a sip of his drink and twisted slightly to gaze away across the pub. This wasn't working, obviously. He couldn't say he blamed him for not wanting to talk, either, but at times like this bottling everything up and forcing yourself to cope with it all on your own was madness. It'd just let his mind play tricks on itself and start analysing everything – what he could have done, if there was any way to go back and change it, whether it was all his fault – it'd drive anyone nuts if they let it.

Taking a dragging breath, George decided it was time to bring out the big guns.

"Look, you know my brother died, don't you?"

And there, he'd said it. The first time he'd ever spoken about it in front of someone outside of the family. It wasn't really the done thing to talk about it full stop, but that didn't stop him wanting to. It didn't stop Fred, either. He'd start to talk about it sometimes, and then stop himself. And he'd change the subject, but they both always knew because they understood it in exactly the same way. Everyone had rallied around Percy, he being the closest to Archie, and then they'd been shunting the kids out of the way because Ron and Ginny were 'too young to understand' and Charlie and Bill had just responded by going off and leaving home because it was too depressing being there and George and Fred had been left to their own devices, because they didn't fit anywhere. They weren't kids who people could pretend didn't know what was going on, and they couldn't run away to Romania or Egypt (only it was the Orient, back then; Egypt was later) and they didn't get everyone's pity because they weren't Percy who had always been so close to Archie and shared his room when they were small – they were just The Twins who could take care of themselves because they were practically teenagers anyway and they had each other, didn't they? No one ever actually sat them down and explained it to them – not that they really needed to. The things people said when they got back to school explained enough. But the fact was, George understood because George had loved Archie, just like everyone else. And everyone did love Archie. In fact, it was a classic tale of the family Golden Boy being tragically lost before he could move on to the Great Things he was destined for. Which was probably why he and Fred were so resented for not making an effort to be what Archie should have been, just like the others.

Underneath all the great righteous façade of the Weasley brood there was much more to their family than people actually realised. Even Harry and Hermione.

"He was called Archie," George said carefully, hardly focusing, but watching Draco's knuckles whiten on his glass, "And he was younger than me and Fred when he killed himself. It… it was Christmas… we didn't even know – things had been so bad at school and he was so miserable here he hang – "

"I know," Draco cut in sharply. "I've heard the story elsewhere. I'm sorry for your loss, but – "

"I know what you think – you reckon no one understands. Well, you're wrong. We _all_ understand in this place. Me, Fred, Harry – Sirius and Lupin…We've all lost people and you can't pretend it's not happening, Drac. It won't make it go away – fuck knows I've had that idea rammed down my throat for years and it doesn't work. No one's going to think you're weak for being upset, you know. You've just lost your mum and dad – it's hardly – "

"_George_, please!"

The other boy's voice was tight and desperate-sounding, and George instinctively reached out and laid a supportive hand on his shoulder as Draco leaned heavily on the table and pushed his hand through fine blond hair.

"You _can_ talk to me. I'm not going to tell anyone, I promise."

"No. I don't want to talk about it. I'm not ready to think about all this." Draco looked up at him, slowly, "I'll deal with it my own way."

"You don't have to… y'know… I sound like someone's psychiatrist, but… you don't have to deal with all this on your own, okay?"

Draco gave him a faint smile and nodded, patting the hand on his shoulder. George gave it a brief squeeze and returned to his drink. He choked on his butterbeer when the blond boy suddenly announced, "God, I need a fag."

He was fairly sure his face was plum-red and his eyes were streaming by the time Draco stood up and began to thump him on the back, asking if he was alright. George nodded and tried to catch his breath, watching as Draco sank back into his seat and pulled out a cardboard packet. He took out a cigarette and lit it from his own hand, which George had to admit, internally, looked quite smart, even if the entire scenario was preposterous.

"Nothing like trauma to illustrate one's weaknesses…" Draco muttered as George studied him faintly dumbstruck. "Don't look at me like that, I'm stressed. We all resume bad habits when we're stressed. I did try to stop…"

"Um… bloody hell," George murmured, ruffling his hand through his hair. Draco had been wearing his hat, earlier, because people had started recognising him and staring. In an attempt to hide his hair as well as the mark still streaking down his face, George had put the blue beanie his mother had knitted atop the Slytherin's recognisable barnet, but it now lay on the table; the mark had been covered by a scarf pulled up around his face, but it now hung loose around his neck. "You know, with your looks and reputation you really probably shouldn't go around saying things like that."

"My 'reputation'? What exactly are you trying to say, Weasley?" Draco asked, raising an eyebrow at him, but George never got to answer as they were rudely interrupted.

A late-middle-aged woman waddled over and stared down at them tutting angrily, "Ooh, you're a wicked boy!" she said, scowling at Draco. "Your poor parents, both dead, and you're out here looking like the cat that's got the cream… Terrible, you are. Horrible boy."

"Oi!" George cried indignantly, "You mind your own business! How bloody dare you?"

"You watch your lip with me, sonny. You shouldn't ought to be messing with the likes of this one anyway," she said waving her wand under his nose before turning back to Draco. "What _would _your father say if he could see you now, sitting here, happy as Larry while he's down St. Mungo's on some mortuary slab? And your poor mother, you wretched child!"

Draco stared up at her with his eyes narrowed. "What would he say? 'Avada Kedavra', probably. The reason my mother is dead is because my father killed her. I don't particularly _care_ what he would think. In fact, I shall thoroughly enjoy _dancing on his grave_ once he has been buried. So if you'll just trundle off back to your sherry, I would like to continue having a quiet drink with my friend."

More people joined in, then, crowding around the table and watching the scene curiously. "Lucius Malfoy'd never do that!" someone said from further back, "All the things he did for charity! What a rotten thing to say."

There were murmurs of assent throughout the crowd. Draco's lips pressed harder together. George wanted to reach out and grab his wrist to stop him doing anything punishable by indefinite prison sentence, but he waited.

"Did you know he was a Death Eater and never actually repented at all?" Draco asked lightly, looking around them, trying to catch as many eyes as possible. "Did you? Are you all ignorant enough not to see that the donations to charity – a pittance which took absolutely no effort at all, if you must know – were a front to endear him to you proles?"

"Apple never falls far from the tree…" someone muttered.

And suddenly Draco was on his feet, and he arched both his eyes brows and said, "Well, if that's the case, as the only Malfoy left, hadn't you better be a little more careful what you say to me?"

A cold silence fell and no one moved for several moments, until George found himself on his feet, too, picking up Draco's coat and pulling him by the arm, through the crowd and towards the door.

"It'll come back to you by three," the old woman's voice called after them, and Draco stopped and turned and smiled and said:

"I know – that's what happened to my father."

They let the door slam behind them.

Harry walked out of the optomewizard's squinting and rubbing the bridge of his nose. His new glasses were in a bag in Remus' hand and instead he was wearing contact lenses, because somehow, entirely going over his head, it had been decided they were more practical. It was almost as if they thought he planned to get himself dangled off towers on a regular basis, and it felt weird and slightly uncomfortable to have nothing he could fidget with. He didn't feel quite as shielded from everything any more, like being in a car without a windscreen.

He was already in a bad mood, and Remus thought he was being stupid and irrational. At least, Harry thought Remus thought that. He just didn't think it was fair of Draco to go off with George as if it had been he who had been there, trying to save him from his father. Remus had carefully pointed out that, in the end, it had been Draco who had done the saving, but that wasn't the point! He hardly knew George! Harry had been taking care of him for months and now where was he? Shopping with Harry's best mate's brother who was only bothered at all because his twin had found better things to do with his time. And if even Fred had found someone he'd rather spend time with, what did that say about George? Nothing positive, surely?

And then, there they were, stomping out of the Three Broomsticks as if throwing simultaneous tantrums. Harry sped up his pace without even realising and glowered when George slung an arm around Draco's shoulder in an over-familiar fashion, something Harry would never have gotten away with. He called out when he was a few metres away, almost jogging to catch up.

"Draco? Drac, you alright?" He stopped when he was close enough to grab the Slytherin's arm, and pulled him – and subsequently George – almost to a stand still. A few passers by stared as they dragged their shopping up or down the hill towards the station or next shop.

"I'm fine," Draco snapped, glaring at someone over his shoulder and straightening his hat.

_Hat_? "Where did you get that? It's bloody ridiculous!" Harry laughed, pulling at one of the tassels from the ear-flaps.

Draco pushed his hand away impatiently and George answered, "It's mine."

Harry wanted to reply that it explained a lot, but decided instead, to let Draco answer for himself. He gazed at him expectantly, but was met only with an irritable, "What happened to your face?"

"Nothing… why?"

"You look funny."

"Oh – I'm not wearing any glasses, am I? Remus made me get contact lenses…"

"I didn't _make_ you, I suggested it and you huffed something along the lines of 'Whatever…' and went and stood on the other side of the shop until you _were_ asked to sit down and try them on." Remus's voice said from behind them, and he suddenly appeared next to Harry. "Hello, boys – have you had a nice afternoon?"

George pulled what Harry assumed was meant to be a jaunty face, which made Harry want to slap him, and muttered, "Could say that…"

"Yes, up until we wasted our time and money in _there_," Draco amended, scowling even more. "You wouldn't believe the nerve of some people – acting as if _I'm_ the one in the wrong! They don't even know I – I…" He stopped and seemed to turn his scowl inward. Harry would have put a hand on his shoulder, supportively, if George's hadn't already been there. He was relieved when Remus sighed and said:

"Well, there will always be people who take what is said in the news papers as the gospel truth, I'm afraid. Things will improve very soon, I'm sure. Perhaps it's time we all went home? After all, Santa won't come if you aren't all tucked up in bed." He looked back at the three pairs of faintly mortified and disbelieving eyes gazing at him and added, "Yes, that was actually a _joke_, boys."

Harry wasn't in the mood for humour.

It wasn't until half past seven that night that George decided to make his way back to the castle, having been there since ten-o'clock that morning hanging around with Draco, taken two meals there and helped with the washing up. Sirius had even suggested that maybe he should just move in as well. Draco wouldn't have objected. It was just such a relief not to have to spend all his time with Harry or Sirius and Remus. George may be slightly older, but at least he was still school-age, wasn't prone to telling wistful stories that were somehow supposed to relate to whatever they were talking about but usually resulted in a vague and rather morose end to whatever conversation was supposed to have been in progress. And at least every other word wasn't 'Gavin' with George, either, and when he was mentioned he wasn't mentioned unnaturally loudly and forcefully, as if to draw attention to the fact that he was _being _mentioned. Draco rather wondered if Harry had been turned (more) stupid by the fright of being dangled several hundred feet from the ground by Draco's father. Either way, he was immeasurably delighted to have found a new focus for his time. If he were a little more uncouth he would have stuck two fingers up at the world for that.

Draco saw George to the door, leaving the others in the kitchen bickering about the best kind of biscuit for dunking in tea and whether the same applied for dunking in hot chocolate. He may have muttered 'plebs' as he left the kitchen, but he would deny all knowledge should he be questioned upon his return.

"So, I'll see you tomorrow," George said, tying his scarf around his neck and grinning. "If that lot haven't bored you to death."

"The maker of _Canary Creams_ is looking down on a conversation about that very confection?" Draco smirked back, leaning against the door frame and crossing his arms. "Hypocrite."

George sniggered and shoved his hands in his pockets, shrugging.

"Look, without wanting to sound like a social worker or something, you _can _chat to me if you want, y'know. Been there – sort of. It isn't fun, I know that, and you look like you're coping okay, but that's only a good thing if you're not faking it, y' follow?"

"I follow," Draco sighed, nodding wearily, "I'm not sure it has quite sunk in yet, that's all."

George gave a lopsided smile and took his hands out of his pockets to give Draco a hug. Awkwardly, Draco patted him on the back and George laughed again, lifting him off the ground, then dropping him back down and messing up his hair for him.

"You'll have to learn to do that properly if you're going to start hanging around with Gryffindors, y'know."

"Oh, goody."

"Stop being such a prissy little git. We'll make a hugger out of you, yet."

"A million galleons says you won't."

George held out his hand, "Done."

"You're not serious?"

"No, he's in the kitchen."

"Oh dear God – out, Weasley, before I'm forced to bludgeon you to death."

"One million galleons says we will, Draco."

"Oh shut up and go and find Fred, I'll see you tomorrow."

Draco shut the door, firmly, not realising that he was grinning to himself until George's voice called through the wood, "Merry Yule, scaredy cat."

"Merry Yule, Pumpkin-head."

He actually jumped when Harry's voice said, "He's finally gone, then?" from the doorway into the living room.

"It's getting late," Draco said, shrugging and dropping his grin for a closed expression and folded arms.

"Yeah. Been here a while, hasn't he? I've hardly seen you…"

"We were out most of the day. Contacts any good?"

"Yeah," Harry nodded, rubbing his eyes. "They itch a bit, but Moony says it's better than risking that happening again. I've got some new glasses, but I'm supposed to wear these until I get used to them."

Draco nodded and lowered himself to sit on the stairs. "You'll have to show me, some time."

"Yeah."

There was a brief lull before Harry asked, "Have you been alright?"

"George has kept me occupied… I haven't had much choice."

"Huh?"

"Nothing. He just seems obsessed with not allowing me to dwell on it or 'keep things bottled up'."

"Maybe he's right. Sort of."

"Perhaps. I'll talk if or when I feel like it. I don't feel like it at the moment."

Harry nodded and shrugged, "Fair enough."

They sat in silence for a minute or two before Draco said, "Remus asked me if I wanted to stay here, for the time being. I said I would if you didn't mind."

"Why would I _mind_?"

"This is _your_ home. _Your_ family."

Harry stared at him, but Draco didn't turn from studying the carpet, "You're welcome here, you know that! Those two think you're great, for some reason," he said, giving a small grin and elbowing him amicably. "And it might not be a country manor or anything, but I really like it here – don't you?"

Draco hesitated, at first, but then allowed himself to nod and admit that yes, he did like it. It felt like home – not necessarily his home, but someone's home in which he was very welcome – unlike the Manor, which had been bleak and detached and rather like a storage warehouse for valuable paintings and books on dangerous subjects.

"Does this mean I have to share my room?"

"I don't think so. Remus mentioned something about moving in to Sirius' bedroom for a while."

Harry grimaced, "Ah, fantastic."

Draco gave a small laugh and said, "I can teach you soundproofing spells, if you're going to be that prudish."

"Pot, kettle."

"Oh, go away!"

Harry grinned and gave him a bit of a shove.

"Do you miss him?" Draco found himself asking suddenly, prompted by the prospect of the younger boy having an illicit use for soundproofing spells, even though he assumed he knew the answer and didn't, in fact, particularly wish to know whether he was right or not. "Do you miss Cross?"

Harry looked at him with his eyebrows arched in surprise. "Of course I do… I miss him like mad."

"Is that why you've been in such an appalling mood recently?"

"Maybe… Maybe it's just everything. It's going to happen soon… and then what? Did you see in the paper – half way through – the Missing Persons notices? The obituary page? No one's reporting it as news – it's like things like this happen every day! People vanishing… sometimes all that's left is a pile of clothes, as if they've just been sucked out of them and taken off somewhere. People think if they ignore it, it'll go away, but it's not going to, is it? And I feel like I'm responsible for everyone. Everyone _knows_ it's coming back and expects me to be able to just make it go away as if I know what happened the first time. Did you know some old woman came up and tried to hug me today? It's like when I first came back here, when I found out who I am… First people were excited and stuff, like I was Michael Jackson walking right into the middle of the pub – "

"Who?"

"Muggle singer."

"Oh."

"Yeah, nutcase. But… yeah… it was all like, 'Wow – it's Harry Potter!' and then people sort of got bored with me a bit, and I liked that because I don't _want_ them to think I'm Michael Jackson, I want to be me! But now it's starting all over again. It's depressing. And I might get killed if I face him again! No one thinks about that, do they?"

"I do."

"Well, you're a pessimist anyway."

"If you expect the worst you aren't disappointed."

"Maybe. Maybe it just means you never enjoy anything."

"I have plenty of things to enjoy. Other people's suffering is one of them."

"And you wonder why people really _believe_ you're looking forward to becoming a Death Eater!"

Draco shrugged and looked up as the living room door opened to reveal a cheerfully grinning Sirius.

"Ah – there you two are! Come on, come in – we've got something for you."

"What?" Draco asked suspiciously.

"Come in and then you'll know."

The two boys looked at each other for a moment and stood up. The living room had been decorated for days, but it somehow seemed much cosier, now, with its wreaths of holly suspended along the mantelpiece and window sills and a fir-tree as tall as Remus nestled in one corner and decorated with stars and baubles that contained holographic snowflakes fluttering and twisting continually. There were no fairies nesting in this tree, but a number of miniature candles were attached to the branches and flickered prettily, their soft glow shimmering off of tiny chocolates shaped like reindeer and pinecones wrapped in shiny, coloured foil. The fire was warm and homely and made Draco want to sit beside it with a blanket and drink hot drinks.

"Here," Sirius said, presenting them each with a small, rounded class, half-filled with a rich, dark liquid. "Seeing as it's Christmas."

Remus looked up at him from where he was curled up on the sofa, nursing a cup of something that steamed and smelled of apples and cinnamon, and gave Sirius a falsely stern look.

Draco took his glass and said thank you, sniffing it gingerly.

"It's sherry," Remus told him with a faintly wry smile. "Siri thought you both needed it. I did try to convince him a mug of hot milk would be far more suitable, but he didn't want to listen, did you, Padfoot? I can just see forces of morality cowering in the shadow of his rebelliousness, can't you?"

"Sherry's fine," Harry said quickly, sitting down on the sofa next to Remus. "Is something cooking again?"

"It's Christmas. They're minced pies," Sirius told him with a silent 'tsk', and squashed down on the sofa with them.

"Who did those? Remus was out with -"

"Sirius did."

"_You_ did?" Harry asked, gaping at Black, who Draco thought may already be slightly drunk – which explained the biscuit conversation rather more clearly; less 'plebs' than 'piss-artists', then?

"_I_ did," Sirius said with the broadest, smuggest grin he had yet given in Draco's presence.

"Oh," Harry said disappointedly, "I quite fancied one, too."

Remus sniggered into his mug and Sirius leaned over Harry to smack him on the top of the head. When Harry laughed, Remus scrunched up his nose a little and gave him a sly pinch, which made him jump and head-butt Sirius and… The Manor had never been like this. They all looked so happy. Harry had lost his melancholy air almost instantly, and Draco stood watching them, slightly apart and without even really thinking it, he was sure that this was how it would be. He would be the guest and he would be welcome, but he could not be a part of this, not really. And maybe he was jealous, because there was a twisting in his gut that he seemed to remember having associated with Harry long before The Great Confession and he rather felt the urge to go and sit by himself in a dark corner and revel in his woes. Instead, he pulled a cushion from the armchair and sat down next to the fire with his glass.

The ruckus on the sofa stopped abruptly.

"Hey, what're you doing down there, Sparky?"

Draco stared at him unamusedly. "I'm sorry?"

"No no no – come here."

"Are you joking? The three of you look squashed enough already…I rather enjoy my personal space…"

"It's a magical sofa, Draco," Remus told him, smiling placidly and looking slightly distant, "It can stretch to eight. Simple expansion charm…"

Draco looked at them doubtfully, but he really did rather want to. It looked fun and familiar and cosy and… He narrowed his eyes and slowly got to his feet; "As soon as I feel squashed – "

"Yeah, yeah, blondie… Harry, squash up."

Harry squashed up towards Sirius allowing a reasonably-sized space to form between him and Remus. Hesitantly, awkwardly, Draco made his way over and sat stiffly in the space between them. Harry's glass was already almost empty, but he held it up all the same and said, "Hey, Drac – cheers!"

Draco suppressed a grin as the other boy wriggled deeper into the seat so much that his feet stopped touching the floor properly, and chinked their glasses together.

"So, this is Christmas," Draco began, only to have the remainder of his sentence drowned out when Harry and Sirius began singing at precisely the same moment.

"So this is Christmaaaas and what have youuuuu dooooone -?"

"What the hell are _you_ doing?" he found himself laughing and leaning forward to look at Remus, who was chuckling quietly to himself.

"That's a point, you know – can't you play any music at all, here? Christmas is rubbish without Christmas songs…"

"You're having a laugh?" Sirius replied flatly. "No one upon _no one_ actually likes Christmas songs, Harry!"

"Unless they're fifteen and getting drunk on sherry surprisingly quickly," Remus noted, taking a sip of his apple brew.

"Fair point."

"What is that you're drinking?" Draco asked, leaning up to look into his cup. "It smells very Christmassy."

"Oh… it's sort of mulled wine, without the wine, really," Remus explained, looking faintly red in the cheeks and glancing around the room uncomfortably.

"There's no alcohol in it?"

"No. I have… well, it doesn't agree with me."

"Neither does Sirius, but you don't avoid him altogether!" Harry declared, before bursting into riotous laughter, muffled by Sirius' hands as he playfully tried to gag him.

"May I have some? I don't like sherry very much."

"_What_?" Harry demanded, pulling Sirius' hand away from his mouth and staring as him as if he'd just admitted to 'quite fancying a go with one of Gavin's Welsh sheep'. His attitude changed very abruptly as he eyed Draco's glass and said, "I'll have it." It was half way to Harry's lips before Draco had even realised he'd let go.

"Of course you can – we have practically a bucketful… Siri never was good with measurements, were you, Paddy?"

"Luckily for you, _Moony_."

"Oh, that's most certainly a matter of opinion," Remus grinned, climbing to his feet and causing Draco to slump slightly to one side. He put down his mug and stretched, several joints cracking, before grinning and shaking his head and walking out into the kitchen.

"What the bloody hell did you do to Moo, Siri?" Harry asked, now half-sprawled across both their laps, until Draco tickled his socked foot and he screeched and moved, kicking him playfully. "If he doesn't drink, what's he on? He's all happy…"

Sirius grinned and said, "Cheering charms…" he held up some fingers and squinted at them "Three cheer – no… hang on… five. No… no, maybe it was… _lots_ of cheering charms!"

Harry laughed hysterically and collapsed as Sirius also climbed to his feet to collect the bottle from the mantelpiece. While he was there he picked up a bundle of mistletoe and giggled to himself faintly manically before tucking it all around his belt. Draco wasn't sure he even want to _know_.

When Remus returned, however, laden with a tray full of festive goodies – cakes and sweets and things that made Draco's sweet tooth twinge with delight – Sirius revealed his… joke.

"Hey," he began, grinning, "Hey, Moony, look – mistletoe belt! Kiss my arse!" before disintegrating into giggles.

Remus stared at him for a moment, before dryly asking, "Why, are we doing presents early?"

Even Draco had to laugh at that – while Harry clamped his hands over his ears and gave a long cry of horror.

"Aww, I think Harry's a bit –"

"'Mortified', I think is the word you're looking for, Black," Draco offered, jabbing Harry in the ribs, just because.

"Gerroff!"

"Nope." Jab. Jab. Jab…. Jabjab. "Ow! Potter, you little tart! That hurt!"

"Then sod off poking me!"

"I'm not poking you. I'm too scared of your monstrous boyfriend for that."

"Eh?"

"You're drunk. You imagined I just said that."

"No I didn't."

"Didn't what?"

"Imagine you said that!"

"Said what?"

"_That_!"

"What?"

"Oh, sod off!"

"I certainly didn't say _that_."

"Now, now, girls…"

"_Girls_? Excuse me, Black, you're the one cooking minced pies and wearing flowers in your hair."

"They're berries and they're in my _belt_."

"Oh, and that makes it _so_ much more manly…"

Lupin grinned and reached up to brush a small kiss to Sirius' cheek, ruffling his hair, "He serves."

"Oh my God. That I hope I _don't_ remember!" Harry declared, pulling a tasselled cushion over his face. "I'm going to be disturbed for life at this rate."

"That isn't what I meant, actually!" Remus said, blushing slightly.

"Oh, yeah, right – I really believe that! No parents, brought up in a cupboard, a twat for a best friend and a pair of raving queens for godparents. A life of prescription potions and psychiatrist's bills beckons."

"And we'd never have guessed the fairy godparents would produce a raving drama queen like you, would we, Harry?"

"We'll that's the pot calling the kettle pink, isn't it?"

"Yes, but I'm not the world's poster-boy bachelor."

"Ha! You admitted it!"

"What?"

"That you're the campest thing since Gilderoy Lockhart minced into the tights shop!"

"How, exactly? Besides, I'm not the one with the six-feet-tall, muscle-bound boyfriend."

"Eh? Hang on, hang on, hang on – you normally just call him fat."

"Well, it serves my purposes to suggest otherwise. You and I and most of the Ravenclaw Quidditch team who have been subjected to Captain Tubby's Man-Breasts know full-well, that in fact, Gavin Cross is a fat, Welsh lard-arse."

"You've _really_ got to stop hanging around with George," Harry said. "And he's _not fat_!"

"I have a sneaking suspicion," Remus said, almost suppressing a smile, while being wrapped in a boa constrictor-like grasp, "that it's not only someone's vocabulary that George Weasley is leaving an impression on…"

"At least George isn't fat." Three pairs of raised eyebrows later, Draco had the sense to add, "Not that there's any foundation to your foul rumour mongering."

"LIAR!" Harry cried, giving him small, jabbing kicks in the thigh. "You fancy him!"

Draco scowled at him, "Not everyone has to sexualize all of their relationships, Harry."

"Now, now, Draco – I'm sure Harry's perfectly capable of platonic friendship – look at his relationship with Ron," Remus said, quite blatantly mocking Harry.

"I snogged Ron, once," Harry declared, slurring slightly and squinting at the ceiling.

All the others stared at him blankly.

"What? We were just practising…"

"Please tell me you haven't kissed Granger…"

"She's a girl…"

Across the room Sirius grimaced and muttered, "Only just."

"Oh Siri, stop. Hermione's very pretty."

"Once you get past the hair and the teeth."

"Her teeth are alright, now!" Harry protested, pulling on Draco's arm to force himself back upright. "Since _his lot_ turned her into a beaver-face and Madam Pomfrey put them back Hermione's got _nice_ teeth!"

"Would you, if you weren't too busy trying to get into the pants of every other male in the castle?"

"…Maybe."

"You know, Harry," Remus mused quietly, "You really are so like your father."

A few hours later, most of which were spent laughing and pranking and stupidly allowing Harry access to even more alcohol, Draco found himself lounging drowsily on one end of the sofa, Harry slumped against his shoulder while stretched out languidly (and unconsciously) across the rest of the cushions. He was very, very drunk, and Draco was very, very aware of the fact. He didn't mind that much, really. He thought perhaps he should have done, and he thought about making Harry move off of him on principle, but he was comfortable now, and Harry didn't mean any harm by it and it was Christmas, so why cause problems? It didn't even hurt that much when he wondered if Harry and Cross ever sat like this and whether he was just playing surrogate boyfriend for the evening.

He stroked at Harry's hair softly when he thought Remus wasn't looking, dozing quietly in the armchair while Sirius washed the dishes. Even though it stood up at ridiculous angles and seemed to have been cut by a blind man using his feet, it was shiny and had a bluish tint. Sometimes, it had golden tints from the light of the fire and the candles on the Christmas tree, and that reminded him of something else. Of bright orange hair and freckles and being far too tactile. Maybe George was right, this was all about Gryffindor 'hugginess'. Maybe he'd be handing over a million galleons, if he ever came into his inheritance, because this was not a very Slytherin thing to be doing. Mildly drunkenly on Christmas Eve or Yule or any time at all… And maybe it _had_ made his heart skip just a little bit when he had first felt Harry's hair brushing his cheek, but he could have pulled away if he was uncomfortable with it. Yet he didn't; he didn't mind this as much as he thought he would. Maybe because he knew it meant nothing to Harry other than "This is comfy and I'm a big, stupid Gryffindor git who must fondle all my friends as often as possible"; maybe because for the first time in a long time, his greatest concern in life was not Harry Potter.

Draco couldn't remember much about going to bed, the next morning, but he was awake by seven, staring up at the ceiling of Remus' bedroom and strangely aware, with a detached numbness, that it was Christmas Day. It was Christmas Day and his father would not be around to layer the atmosphere with dread and fear of one of his blackened moods. He loathed Christmas. He always said it was a celebration that belonged to their ancestors and had been raped by Christians trying to control the peasants of centuries past. His mother had always… or when she wasn't sick… she had always ensured he had presents to unwrap and the few Christmases he had shared with his grandmother had been filled with toffee apples and sweets and he had been allowed to play with the wrapping paper as most children wanted to, instead of neatly folding it for disposal.

Even though he was weighed down by heavy blankets, he shivered. He didn't want to leave this room, face what was outside and the fact that regardless of whether he had enjoyed Christmas in years past, he had no family to share it with now. Just as he would have no family to celebrate his eighteenth or twenty-first birthdays; his coming of age. No one to take home whomever – if anyone – he ever fell into a relationship with, to meet. No one. He couldn't stay here forever. Why should they let him anyway? How soon would he become a burden? Draco had been brought up to believe that the world owed him favours that had been denied their people, from birth, but not these people; they owed him nothing. Part of him felt compelled to dress and leave before they awoke. Take away that burden from them, and therefore himself. He could spend Christmas at the castle anyway….

He sat up wearily when there was a knock at his door and Harry's sleep-groggy voice called, "Draco? You awake yet?" through the wood.

He hesitated for a moment, tempted to pretend he was asleep, not get up just yet at all, but Harry knocked again and opened his door, and the he had no choice.

"Good morning."

"Morning," Harry squinted, trying to smile and looking rather foolish. "Are you getting up?"

"If I was I'm certainly not now I've seen you looking like that," he replied, almost rolling his eyes at himself. He threw back his covers and climbed out of bed. It was rather cold in the room, after all… the sooner they were downstairs in front of the fire, the better. "So what did you buy me?"

"Who says I bought you anything?"

"I believe the exact words were, 'No, Remus, put my present for Draco over here', when we were decorating the tree."

Even that had been done to try and distract him from the fact his own father had left him a bloody mess, and he had been forced to direct from his sick bed on the sofa.

"Bugger."

"How on earth do you wrap that?!"

"Eh? Oh, shut up! I've got a hang over…"

"Yes, well I have no sympathy for you at all."

"You wouldn't."

They trudged down stairs, the smell of cooking already wafting through the living room. Sirius and Remus were already in the kitchen, Remus cooking pancakes and Sirius idly mixing some syrupy-looking mess of fruits and dark-red sauce in a bowl, a lopsided wreath of holly sitting on his head. In the middle of the table were a jug of juice and a stack of attractive crockery that Draco hadn't seen them use before.

"Merry Christmas, boys," Remus beamed as they walked in. "Have a seat."

"What's that? Why've we got posh plates?" Harry asked, reaching out to stick a finger in the bowl his godfather was mixing.

"Harry, don't stick your hands in it!" he said, scowling playfully. "Fuck knows where they've been!"

"_I_ should be so lucky…" Harry muttered, "But –"

"It's Christmas," Remus explained before Harry could elaborate, turning to put a plate of thin, crepe-like pancakes on the table, soon joined by jars of sticky substances like chocolate spread, syrup and clotted cream and some bananas, sugar and lemon juice. "This is an old Black tradition. We said we'd make our first Christmas special, didn't we, Harry?"

"Yeah," Harry grinned, eagerly sitting down next to Sirius and picking up an empty plate. "Can we start, yet? When do we open presents?"

"After breakfast," Sirius told him, waving a sticky spoon at Remus. "You can blame that tradition on his family."

"I can see the galleon signs totting up in my dentist's eyes already…" Draco muttered, but he certainly wasn't going to complain.

Feeling thoroughly full and rather sick, they made their way into the living room some time later, to the promise of presents. During breakfast three owls had arrived, including the Weasley's owl, Errol, who had flown straight past Harry and collapsed on top of Draco's head. Draco had not been amused. Errol had, strapped to his leg, a tiny bundle, with a note attached reading, "Remus, dear, please unshrink. Don't let Sirius do it. Love, Molly"

The order not to allow Sirius to do it was underlined three times. Sirius was not amused.

"Why does that woman think I'm incompetent?" he complained, slumping down on the sofa, his present from Harry clutched in both hands. "I'd like to see _her_ 102% NEWT in Advanced Charms…"

Remus placed the small bundle on the coffee table and drew his wand, the package looked like the sort of fake parcels people used to decorate Christmas trees, and it was quite intriguing to see how they expanded and ended with a soft _pop_, jumping slightly as they did so. Remus checked the labels and handed them out to their relevant owners. When he came to a large, squishy one, wrapped in paper decorated with hopping robins he blinked for a moment, and handed it to Draco, who stared up at him in surprise.

"What?"

"It's for you."

"Don't be ludicrous. There's really no need to try and make me feel better – I'm not expecting anything from them."

"We'll they've sent you something," Remus insisted, dropping it into his lap.

"Probably a jumper with 'Prat' on the front," Harry sniggered, tearing at the paper on his own parcel. He pulled out the anticipated woollen garment, plus an envelope and a mesh sack of chocolate galleons.

"This one's from Ron, Harry," Remus said, tossing him another, smaller one, which Harry dropped his jumper to catch.

Draco was still staring at his, wondering if it was full of nasties that would leave him blistered and unable to touch anything for a week. It took considerable courage to finally untie the string and pull off the paper. To his relief, Harry's prediction had been closer to the mark. A charcoal-coloured jumper with a big, green dragon on the front was wrapped up with a card and a bag of chocolates like Harry's. Awkwardly, he took the card and opened the envelope. He was immediately sprinkled with a glittering dust and for a moment thought that this was the inevitable Weasley prank. Instead, he felt a warm, creeping sensation throughout his body, like a happy, radiating warmth and the feel of being wrapped in a very mumsy hug. He thought he might be blushing, especially as most of it landed in his lap, but no one said anything.

Inside the card was a short note signed 'Molly & Arthur Weasley (and family)', thanking him for what he had done at the Quidditch match at the end of term and offering him anything they could give in gratitude. He almost felt a pang of guilt when his mind automatically offered "Stop breeding". Their son was a good friend; it was thanks to their incessant breeding that Draco had George at all.

He looked up again when Harry fell about laughing and pointing at Sirius's gift. It appeared to be a thick and heavy woollen scarf, and even Remus was chuckling at him, now.

"Obviously, someone's trying to tell you something," Draco said, smirking.

"I can't believe she sent me a _muffler_! The old cow!"

"Now, Siri," Remus scolded in his best parental tones, "She didn't have to make you anything at all."

"Well, I wish we'd bought her the apron that said 'Never Trust a Thin Cook' instead of the 'Mum Knows Best' one!"

"Don't be so petty!"

"Well she deserves it! I don't know what she's got against me, but it's obviously bloody serious."

Draco leaned over the side of the sofa and picked up the bundle he had wrapped up for Harry weeks before. He wasn't sure, now, if this was such a good idea, after all. It seemed almost too much. Maybe he'd put a little too much thought into it; but if he didn't give this to him now he had nothing else to offer and it wasn't as if he could send them back…

Casually, he settled back into his seat and held out the gift, muttering, "That's yours."

Harry stared at him for a moment, before grinning wildly and snatching it out of his hands. "Thanks!"

"It's…well. You needed them." There was no point saying it was nothing when it was very obviously _something_. Over eighty galleons of owl-order something and a fair amount of research that had been done, in part, when they weren't even talking, after their fight over Cross. For a Slytherin, he wasn't sure whether this illustrated his ability to pre-plan flawlessly or a fundamental flaw in his pre-occupation with himself.

Harry ripped the paper from his gift and tossed it onto the floor before he'd really looked at what he was holding. When he did, he froze.

"Your old ones weren't really fit for a Seeker," Draco said, trying to sound as though it had been an obvious gift. Harry would never realise that when Draco had ordered it they weren't even talking to each other. Hopefully.

Harry turned them over in his hands, slowly. They were impeccable quality. Buffalo leather Quidditch gloves; laces woven from the manes of winged ponies from ranches in the US. And on the front of the wrist-guard, embossed in gold, was what made them not only impeccable, but also utterly unique.

"It's your paternal ancestral crest," Draco told him, when Harry ran his fingers over one and continued to stare at it. "They really were potters, believe it or not. They owned a small company in Sussex, which grew into one of the biggest earthenware suppliers to the aristocracy in our world during the fourteenth century…"

Harry continued to stare and Draco found himself carrying on, feeling as though he needed to justify his purchase before it was rejected.

"…They… there were royal appointments… In 1612 the master potter of the family was knighted. Until the last war they… when everyone was lost…. Harry? Look, if you don't like them – "

"You're mad."

It was Draco's turn to stare, this time, uncomfortably aware that both Sirius and Remus were watching them intently.

"I can't believe you did all of this…"

"Well, I wasn't just going to buy you any old pair, was I?" Draco told him, forcing a superior drawl. "I do have standards."

"Drac…" Harry stammered, holding them reverentially, "They're… I…"

"Oh stop gawping, idiot."

Harry did. He stopped gawping and flung himself upon him, crushing him in a hug. Draco could feel himself blushing immediately and muttered that this hurt. Harry took quite some time to let go and when he did he looked at him earnestly and said, "Draco, I take back everything I said about you being a git."

"I'm flattered."

"My present looks crap compared to this…"

Draco raised an eyebrow and asked what it was. Harry responded by laying right across him to reach over the arm of the sofa. Draco grimaced and hoped the adults hadn't noticed… it was rather soon after the experience with the hug and he was still rather tender. It was a relief when Harry crawled back and shoved a box-shaped gift into his hand.

"You're not allowed to use any of it on Gavin," he warned as Draco unwrapped it. Inside was a collection of packets, vials and potion bottles. A large embossed label across the front of the box proclaimed, "Zonko's Prank It Yourself: Petty Vengeance Potions Kit".

Draco laughed and said, "You do realise that this is a red rag to a bull, don't you? You can't just give me this and tell me not to use it on your boyfriend when you know he annoys me beyond comprehension!"

"You'd better not, Draco."

"But it's just so tempting…"

"I'll hide it all before he gets back from holidays."

"Not if I hide it where you can't find it first!"

"How about," Remus interrupted, "we leave the rest of the presents for later and get started on dinner?"

"We've only just eaten!"

"Yes, but we have to cook it first; get your sleeves rolled up – I assume you can both be trusted with vegetable peelers, can't you?"

They hadn't long since finished lunch when there was a tuneful knock on the back door and two identical red-heads bounded in noisily; Fred wearing a hat with reindeer antlers on it, decorated with mistletoe. Everyone leaned slightly further away.

"A very Merry Yule to you all, gentlemen!" he grinned, bowing and knocking what was left of Harry's cracker on the floor with his antlers.

"May the very best of the season fall upon you – "

"- and not something heavy."

"Because that would be a crap way to end the year."

"Grave diggers think so anyway…"

"Fred!" George scowled and slapped him on the arm. "Bloody idiot…" He seemed relieved when he saw that Draco was grinning reluctantly and lounging back against his chair with his arms folded. "So – Happy Christmas!"

A faintly bewildered Remus managed a, "Likewise," before pulling himself out of his seat and gesturing to it. "Come in – make yourselves comfortable… season's greetings... or something."

"Cheers," George said, immediately plonking himself down next to Draco. Harry cast Draco a look that seemed to ask where he found the patience. Which was ironic, seeing as Harry had been perfectly good friends with them for years. Fred hoisted himself on to the side and sat idly swinging his legs against the cupboards below.

"Almost forgot," he said, digging around in his coat pocket, "we made you all a card – "

"- don't worry – this one won't explode –"

" – we put too much in Snape's – "

"- so we had to ration the rest – "

" – and we thought we'd be kind –"

" – to our second little brother – "

" – and family."

"'Cause we're good like that, aren't we, Fred?"

"Too right."

Sirius tentatively held out his hand to take the card and muttered, "Er, cheers."

Remus looked like he was in a gangster movie and wasn't sure whether to laugh at someone's joke or not, but that choosing the wrong option could mean sudden and untimely death.

"Breakfast was fun – "

" – we swapped that girl from Ravenclaw's pumpkin juice – "

" – with a cup full of orange jelly – "

" – she sat there for eight whole minutes –"

" - trying to work out what had happened!"

"She only did –"

" – when it fell out of her glass –"

" – and went straight down her top!"

"Which girl from Ravenclaw?" Harry asked suspiciously.

"The skinny one."

"Looks like she should be related to us – "

" – except our hair's better."

"McKnight?"

"Yeah, her."

"Isn't she the one – "

" – who was trying to steal your bloke?"

Harry seemed torn between a scowl and delight that she had been duped by the Twins. "Something like that…" he muttered finally.

"Wicked!"

"Our job here is done."

"Well it wasn't done that originally, was it?" Sirius said, "'Jelly in the cup'? That's right up there with 'glue on the chair' and 'sickle stuck to the pavement'."

The Twins raised identical eyebrows to an identical degree.

"I do believe, George, that that was a challenge."

"I believe it was, Fred."

"So what would you have done – "

" – _Mr_ Padfoot?"

Sirius raised an eyebrow of his own and sighed, "Crackers full of Bubotuber pus – "

"We did that in first year."

" – minced pies with spiders in – "

"George doesn't like spiders."

"Why not?"

"Two words: Forbidden Forest," Fred nodded, matter or factly.

"You haven't been in there again!" Remus said impatiently, and looked rather as though he wished he hadn't when the Twins both stared at him.

"Of course we have – "

" – all the time – "

"- but not far, now – "

" – and neither would you if you'd seen the bloody _size of it_! It was… it was _massive_!"

"I bet you say that to all the girls, mate, don't you?" Sirius smirked.

George cast him a look that was dryly disbelieving, "I don't need to _tell them._"

"It's written all over the toilet doors."

Sirius chuckled. "You two would have made alright Marauders."

"_Alright_?"

"We'd be better than _alright_!"

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah!" they told him firmly.

"I'll believe it when I see it."

Remus may have muttered a faint, "Oh God, no…" before picking up the kettle and going to fill it up.

Meanwhile, Draco was wondering what on earth was going on. Beneath the table a hand was groping around in the vicinity of his leg. He stared at George until the older boy finally found his hand, turned it over and pressed a shoddily wrapped box into his hand, then raised a finger to his lips in a gesture of silence. Draco frowned, but nodded and laid the box on his lap.

He was too busy studying his box to realise what was going on when everyone seemed to start getting up and migrating into the living room. He climbed to his feet and started to follow, until George grasped his elbow and tugged him back. At the door, Remus cast them a glance and hesitated before giving them a slight smile and pulling the door quietly closed behind him.

"This would be mine, then?" Draco asked, holding up the present and looking at him enquiringly.

"Yeaaah," George said slowly, shrugging and tilting his head to the side, "But before you open it, just let me warn you that it's a bit of a joke, alright? Fred thought it seemed a bit evil, but it's not meant like that at all… I just thought it could be a laugh. So… yeah."

"What is it?" Draco asked, tugging at the paper apprehensively. "It isn't going to bite me or anything, is it?"

"Er, no… but if I've made a serious enough misjudgement you might bite _me_. Not that I have, or anything, but you never know…"

Draco studied him suspiciously for a moment, then pulled the box from its wrapping. He opened the lid carefully, and peered inside. Within the box was a glassy-looking ball, around the size of a large orange, and filled with an opalescent mist. He stared down at it, glanced up at George, and then asked, "Why have you bought me a crystal ball, Pumpkin-head?"

"I haven't."

"So what's that?"

"It's… well…" George reached into the box and removed the ball, carefully, "I thought, _considering_… it might be useful."

"What is it?"

"Look at the instructions and you'll work it out!"

Draco delved into the box and pulled out the miniature scroll accompanying it. "It'd rather you just told me what it was before it did what it's supposed to and we both end up convicted of crimes against humanity… or dead."

"It's not going to kill anyone, Snowflake, stop fretting! You don't think I'd buy you a bad Christmas present, do you?"

"Fred does."

"Yeah, well, Fred just wants everything to have some kind of underlying evil inclination. So he should probably love you, really…"

Draco raised an eyebrow and snorted.

The parchment was decorated in swirling script, curling down the page and incorporating diagrams as it went. At the very top, however, was a passage that answered Draco's questions rather concisely:

_"New from ZONKO'S – The Next Generation of __Divination__Range__ brings you – THE MULTI-SENSORY, SELF-REGULATING, LIGHT-PROPELLED, ULTRA-ACCURATE **JEZEBEL POLARI** **GAYDAR v.2.1!!!"**_

Draco blinked and looked at George again. "What?"

"It's a Gaydar: does exactly what it says on the tin."

"There is no tin."

"Yeah, but – never mind. It's cool – look – you just say the activating words and it will sniff out everyone around and tell you who goes for what. It's mainly focused on pointing out people who are actually gay, I think, but still… I think I'm turning into my mother, what with the practical Christmas presents and that…"

Draco continued to stare up at the ginger boy with one eyebrow raised.

"Why have you given me a Christmas present which points out gay people, Pumpkin?" he asked mildly.

George responded by clapping him on the shoulder and saying, "Don't kid yourself, _Snowflake_."

"What do you _mean_ 'don't kid yourself'? If you knew you could have just said!" Draco scowled petulantly, folding his arms across his chest.

"Why say anything? You didn't, so I didn't."

"Until now."

"Until now. Fact is, mate," George told him frankly, holding out the Gaydar for him to take, "bicycle-face and lover-boy are in it for keeps as far as they're concerned, and I'm getting sick of all the bitching and the dirty glances and stuff every time he's mentioned. There are loads more crumbs in the biscuit tin, yeah? That's your compass; go have a look."

Draco's scowl turned into an irritable frown, "How do you know all this, Pumpkin-head?"

"Some of us don't need bloody glowing crystal balls to see what's waving around in front of us like a streaker at the World Cup," George grinned, ruffling his hair. "So, you want to give it a go?"

"Um… my wand's upstairs…You do it. You bought it."

"And it's your Christmas present," George countered, pulling his own wand out of his pocket. He held it out to Draco, "Go on, use that."

Draco recoiled slightly, "No."

"What's yours?"

"Ash and Manticore hair."

"_Manticore__?_ How the fucking hell did you get that?!"

"It chose me. What's that?"

"Yew and Dragon heartstring. Fred's is yew and Sphinx hair, lucky bastard. Now come on, take it and activate the Gaydar."

Reluctantly, Draco held out his hand, and the other boy pressed his wand into it. There was a strange tingle as their hands met, which George clearly noticed, too, because he glanced at Draco and then looked away for a moment. Wands did that sometimes, though. Draco had picked up Blaise's wand, once, and it had made his whole hand vibrate. Of course, that one turned out to have a curse on it…

Draco took a deep breath and touched the wand to the opalescent ball, and said, "Quero". Nothing happened except a few sparks emitted from the end of the wand. He dropped it in surprise and George bent to pick it back up, grinning slightly.

"Yeah, sorry, it does that sometimes." He gave it a flick and rubbed it on his sleeve before handing it back.

"Quero," Draco said again, and this time the mercurial mist inside began to swirl quickly and from the very depths of the ball a faint glow began to build, growing stronger every second, until the entire ball issued with a dark, pinkish light. Suddenly it zipped into the air and a number of other tiny rays of light burst out of its middle, shades of rainbow with a bold, flickering beam of pink focusing on him as it whizzed in circles around his head before doing a wide figure-of-eight and looping itself around George several times in vast, aquamarine arcs. Then it seemed to hesitate, rotating on the spot and fading to a pale bluish-white and suddenly throwing itself towards the living room door, flashing every colour manically.

"I think it must be broken," Draco sighed disappointedly.

George looked at him as if he was a bit of a prat, and said, "Er, no. I reckon it's working just fine, actually. You want to take a look at the instructions when you get a chance. Read up on colours and things…" He clapped Draco on the shoulder as he reached for the tiny scroll again, and opened the door into the living room before the Gaydar broke a hole through it.

Immediately, the ball whooshed over to Remus and bounced on to the side of his head, turning a similar shade of pink as it had when it had attacked Draco. It fell with a soft _flump_ to the sofa beside him before making a bizarre gurgling noise and zipping back into the air again, where it did a few more circuits of a very stunned Remus' head and then shot over to Harry, turning a warm purple.

"What's the hell is that?" Harry asked, laughing and raising his hands to shield his head from any unwanted assaults.

"George's Christmas present to _Snowflake_," Fred told them rolling his eyes from where he sat on the floor near the fire. He grinned as it zipped over to him and turned a vivid orange, gently batting it away towards Sirius, where it hovered for a moment, apparently sussing him out, and streaking through range of colours between yellow and indigo and circling Remus in a shade of fuchsia a few more times before settling on a bluish-green, not dissimilar from the colour it had turned when first presented with George.

"And what the bloody hell _is_ 'George's present to Snowflake'?" Sirius asked, attempting to grab the ball out of mid-air and missing.

From the doorway, Draco grinned. "It's a Gaydar," he said, "And apparently you're a bit too blue to be bisexual."

"Sod off!" Sirius protested, grabbing at the gaydar again, playfully, but missing as it floated out of reach and returned to hover near Draco, fading to the bluish-white again and flashing the pink ray faintly.

"So, what colour did it turn for George?" Harry asked, leaning back in his seat and pulling his knees up.

George responded with a wink and said, "Now that'd be telling, wouldn't it, gay boy?"

"Yeah, well at least I'm not afraid to admit it. I'm starting to think those rumours were true…"

"What rumours?" Draco asked. He'd heard several rumours about the Weasley Twins over the years – some ludicrous, some probably true, and some…well, best left alone. He glanced at Fred, who had taken a rather keen interest in the hem of his corduroy trousers, and for a change, said nothing.

"Did you hear about that, Drac?" Harry asked, grinning with a slightly nasty glint in his eye. "I thought everyone heard that one."

"Heard _what_ one?"

It was George who answered, looking at Harry as though he'd quite like to kick him; "The one about me and Ollie."

"_Wood_?"

Remus shifted uncomfortably in his seat and looked over at Sirius, who was looking on with amused interest.

"Yeah…"

"Is it true?" Draco asked, feeling something inside him twist and contract in anticipation of the answer.

George and Harry were by now having a staring match, not scowling, but gazing at each other with such taught intensity that it was almost possible to see death rays between them.

"I don't think that's really our business, Draco, do you?" Remus asked, standing up. "Would anyone –"

"Say the word 'tea', Moo, and I think someone will probably hit you."

"Oh… well, I'll just get my own, then," Remus muttered and walked into the kitchen, closing the door behind him. The four boys stared at Sirius until he finally acquiesced and pulled himself to his feet to follow.

"So, is it or not?"

"What's it matter? He's gone now, anyway."

"It matters because Draco fancies you, don't you, Drac?" Harry said, and laughed. And Draco really, really wanted to hit him.

"No. I don't. Mind your own business."

Fred looked up quite suddenly and froze with his eyes on his brother, who was still staring intently at Harry.

"Well, that's okay, then," he said lightly. "And, as it happens, yeah. Me and Ollie… we…" he glanced at Fred and stopped altogether.

"Isn't there this term for that? Fuck-Buddies or something?" Harry offered.

Now George glowered. His hand twitched as if he wanted to thump the other boy right in the mouth. "It wasn't _like_ that," he ground out.

"You don't have to justify yourself to him," Draco told him, holding his elbow in case Harry received the much-deserved punch. "He's just bitter because his little boyfriend isn't here. And the rumours _I_ heard were that Harry liked Wood. Are you jealous or something, Harry?"

"You know what I reckon?" Fred said, finally piping up and casting Harry a pitying look, "I reckon it sounds a lot like Harry's jealous of George for things more recent than his first-year crush on Ollie Wood."

"What, for _him_?" Harry snorted, glancing at Draco and turning somewhat redder, even if he still sounded rather collected. "Yeah, right."

"Aww, I'm sorry, Harry," George said with a small laugh. "I didn't realise that you fancied him. Still, wouldn't want to go upsetting Gavin with you running off with Snowflake, would we?"

"Yeah," Fred added, "he gets upset easily, your boyfriend."

Harry's eyes narrowed, "No, he doesn't."

Fred chuckled darkly, "Maybe not at the moment, but from what was going on last year you might want to be a bit careful you don't go hurting him or anything."

"What – are – you – on – about?"

"Doesn't matter now – "

" – let by-gones be by-gones – "

" – and all that."

"_Tell me_."

George looked at Fred, who looked back and smirked, and together they shrugged and said, "Nah."

Meanwhile, Draco wanted to die. He had felt like someone punched him when Harry had declared that he had a crush on George – his _friend_, George, who had been the only person to really show any sympathy for what had happened on the tower – and he knew it had the potential to ruin everything – take away that friendship altogether; obviously, he didn't fancy Draco either, and now he wasn't sure whether that was a good thing because it saved the awkwardness, or a bad thing because if George _had_ fancied him it would have been something Draco could have used to ensure he stuck around; and then, Harry himself making a _mockery_ of how Draco felt… He hated him so much at the moment. So very, very much.

He wasn't really sure what he was still doing, standing there while the nasty comments spread amongst them, so he simply walked across the room and out of the door, heading for his bedroom. He wasn't staying around to deal with this. He hadn't even meant to slam the door behind him, but when it did he felt quite satisfied. Frustratedly, he picked up a book from the top of the stack he had smuggled out of the Manor and hurled it across the room, watching it crash against the windowsill, and fall to the floor, its binding broken, pages spilled across the carpet. He wanted to throw another, but he could hear footsteps on the stairs and if it was Remus he'd get told off for damaging books.

By the time the cautious knock at the door came, Draco was sitting on the side of his bed facing away from it. He muttered 'come in' but George was already half way into the room by then. He stopped and closed the door behind him.

"You alright?" he said, with a faint inflection of 'You'd better be or Potter gets it'.

"I'm fine."

"I'm starting to wish I'd never bought that bleeding thing, now," he said, gesturing to the ball that was now hovering near his face. He batted it away gently. "More trouble than it's sodding worth."

"It wouldn't be if Harry hadn't started being such a total bastard about it. I don't know what the hell's the matter with him…"

"Personally, Snowflake, and I hate to break it to you, and everything, but I think Fred was bang on when he said that…"

Draco gave a small, sardonic laugh and replied, "No, trust me. Harry doesn't. He's made that amply clear."

"If you say so." Draco felt George walk over and sit on the bed behind him. He sighed and sagged his shoulders. "Look, it's not going to make things difficult between us or anything, is it? 'Cause I know I probably shouldn't admit it, but…"

He paused, and Draco felt his stomach yank again, thinking _Oh George, please don't complicate this…_

"…you're my best mate. I know Fred's my brother and no one's ever going to be closer than he is to me, but… I never really see him, lately, and I like hanging out with you. So I s'pose that makes you my best friend. And I wouldn't want the fact that I _could_ fancy you or something get in the way…"

Draco wasn't sure if he should be pleased that George _wasn't_ interested, or disappointed, because regardless of what that might mean, it would mean someone found him in some way appealing, even if nothing came of it. He could have done with a decent ego massage…

George sighed and shifted nearer, wrapping his arm around Draco's shoulder and cross his chest in a tight squeeze, ruffling his hair with the other hand. "You're all miserable, now, aren't you?"

"What do you mean?" Draco asked sharply, looking at him over his shoulder – more sharply than he should have, because it made George pull away abruptly, which was vaguely disappointing.

"I just meant it's Christmas Day, Harry has pissed us all off and I feel bad that my present started it. I'm sorry, alright?"

"Don't be _sorry_, for pity's sake!" Draco said impatiently. "It's not your fault."

"Okay, okay… I don't want _us_ to start arguing over that little prat downstairs…"

"We're not."

"So we're okay?"

"_Yes._"

"Good."

There was a long silence, and Draco found himself shifting so that he was more or less facing the other boy. Still, neither of them said anything, until Draco finally asked, "So, what happened?"

"When?" George asked, but from the look on his face he didn't need the clarification.

"When you and Wood broke up? I get the impression it – "

"We never 'broke up'…"

The twists in Draco's stomach could _not_ be natural. Perhaps it was something he'd eaten… that was the last time he let Black cook for him. "So, are you and he still - ?"

The red-head snorted and said, "No… we were never really _together_ in the first place…But we were more than bloody 'fuck buddies'!" he added, sounding affronted at the very thought of it. He sighed and scowled, before rubbing at his hair aimlessly and continuing, "It makes it sound sodding horrible, doesn't it? I'm not saying that I'm entirely opposed to meaningless debauchery or nothing, but still… And it's not like it was all Romeo and Juliet or anything, either, but… Fuck, I'd really like to hit Harry for saying that."

"Be my guest. If he wasn't bigger than me I would have done, too," Draco lied, and George laughed at him.

"Yeah, right…"

"Humour me."

"Alright," the other boy grinned, before beginning his allegory again. "The reason we… stopped… was because I was only your age, and he was about to leave school and… It's not like we could have carried on with anything. And that started to matter – it's not like we ever meant it to matter… Friends with Benefits – that's what he used to call it – but then it kind of… got too _big_ to be that, so…"

"You ended it?"

"_He_ did," George corrected, "And I s'pose he was right, really. You can't be a professional Quidditch star with an under-age boyfriend, can you?"

"He dumped you for his _career_? What the hell was he doing in Gryffindor?!"

"No, no – it wasn't like that either. It's just really complicated, Drac… you weren't there, y'know? I might've been fifteen, but I wasn't even a little bit naïve. Not even a little bit… He didn't take advantage, he didn't lead me astray or pressurise me or anything… If anyone was doing pressurising, it was me, but at the end of the day, it was never going to last, so it was best never to get too caught up in that, and we were failing. Both of us. And Oll could see it before I could, that's all. He did me a favour, I s'pose, 'cause I know by then he was pretty much as gutted about the prospect as I was."

"Do you still love him?"

George gave a little chuckle, a cynical little laugh, and said, "I was fifteen – just about sixteen by the time he left – what do you think?"

Draco shrugged and offered, "I know it really pisses me off when people claim it's 'too young to understand'."

"You've really got to stop swearing…"

"I suppose you just have that effect on people, Pumpkin-head."

"Maybe I do…" He grinned and hazel eyes caught Draco's for the first time in several minutes, "Still, pastures new, eh?"

Draco looked back at him with an eyebrow raised and smirked, "Indeed…"

"So, what is it about me you don't fancy, then?" George asked suddenly, relaxing back on to his hands and making himself more comfortable. Draco's heart skipped about eight beats, but he still managed to remain composed enough to return:

"What is it about _me_ you don't fancy?"

"I don't remember saying I don't," the other boy smirked.

"But – "

"And I never said I did…"

"_Oh, stop it_!" Draco ordered, pouting ferociously.

"Aw, you look like a disgruntled ferret when you do that!" George laughed, ruffling his hair so that some of it stood up from the friction. Draco reached out to push his hand away, but George merrily caught his fingers instead and twisted them just enough to hurt.

"Ow! Pumpkin!"

"Be nice. Stop pouting and be nice."

"I _am_ being nice."

"You're not, you're being surly."

"Well, you're twisting my _fingers_!" Draco protested, starting to laugh a bit. "Is this just an excuse to hold my hand?"

"Maybe. Maybe I just like hurting you."

"Amounts to the same thing, doesn't it?"

"My, my, _Snowflake_, what a filthy mind we have."

"Yes, well, if the cap fits…Or homemade woolly hat, in your case."

"And yours. You like my woolly hat."

"It's a means to an end…"

"Well, I _was_ going to get mum to make you one, but if you're going to be like that…"

"You haven't had your present, yet, have you?" Draco realised, suddenly, just prior to realising that they still had their fingers linked, and extricating his hand while it wasn't being tortured.

"That's alright, I'll get it later… I didn't come to get that, anyway."

"You came to give me the Gift from Hell, did you?" Draco asked as the almost-forgotten Gaydar twirled merrily on its axis not far away from them, apparently behaving itself, for now.

"No," George corrected, genially, "I came to see _you_." Draco froze for a moment as the Gryffindor's hand reached up to his face; he opened his mouth to say something – not that he was sure what – and almost felt his heart going into painful palpitations before George held out a tiny blond curve of hair on his finger tip and said, "Eyelash."

"Sweet," a voice said flatly from the doorway, making them both jump. Harry walked into the room without knocking, looking vaguely disgusted. "Fred's going back to school, if you feel like leaving any time _soon_."

"He'll leave when he wants to leave."

"What did you do to the book?" Harry asked, walking over to the scattered pages and scooping some of them up. "I hope this isn't one of Moony's…"

"It's one of my father's, alright? Leave it alone."

"Why? What is it, a book of poetry or something?" he help up a page and read aloud, "'_Like spring dew upon the grass of morn…_' A bit wet for your dad, isn't it?"

"I didn't send over any poetry. Maybe it was stuck between the pages. Do you mind? We were having a private conversation."

"Oh, don't stop for my benefit. Or wasn't it that sort of 'chat'?" Harry asked, smirking as he rifled through the pages. George began to stand up, casting Draco a look that suggested he was losing patience. Rapidly. Draco grabbed his arm and pulled him down again. He was too annoyed with Harry to let him win this. Whatever this was.

"What it was, is none of your business."

"I can see that," Harry replied, glancing up and then looking down at the page in his hand. He frowned and turned it over, looking at the back, then back at the front.

"What?"

"I dunno… I don't… This isn't from the book."

"Well it was probably put in there by someone when they were reading it, wasn't it?"

"It's weird."

"Well, that's alright, because you're not exactly bread-and-butter normal yourself, either, are you, mate?"

Harry glared at George, then walked over and handed it the page to Draco.

"It's ripped, look. And we only get half of it…"

"So someone tore up a love…letter… Or not."

"I'd say _not_."

"So what is it?"

"What's it say, Snowflake?"

"I'm not reciting it – it could be a spell!"

"Then give me it and I will…"

"George, we don't have the second half – we don't know what it does…"

"I doubt it invites the undead hoards to devour us, mate, so don't worry too much."

"You lot have _no _senseof self-preservation!"

"Some more than others…"

"_When the Darkness Broke In?_ Sounds like a title of a poem more than anything, to me…"

"Maybe that's all it is…"

"…Get Fred," George said, glancing at Harry. "He should look at this…"

"He's your brother – you get him."

"Oh, Harry, shut up and do as he says."

"No."

"Don't be so petty!"

"FRED! COME HERE A MINUTE!" Harry yelled, and looked at Draco as if to say, _Argue with that_.

There was the sound of feet pounding up the stairs and Fred leaned around the door curiously. "What?"

"Look at this," George said, holding out the scrap of paper. "What d'you reckon it is?"

"Er, a poem, mostly."

"Look at the words, knobhead."

"_When emerald Earth and smoke-grey Fire… with… flam-ed Air and rain conspire_..._So then_…" Fred frowned and looked intently at George. "I see."

"Me too."

"I don't."

"Neither do I."

The Twins looked at each other and seemed to reach some sort of silent agreement, before George began, "It's written almost – "

" – _well_ – "

" – quite a lot like – "

" – a prophecy."

"You're winding me up."

"We're not, mate – "

" – it's definitely predicting _something_."

"Oh great. How am I going to die this time?"

"Now, now – "

" – don't be so blasé about it."

"It doesn't say anyone's going to die – "

" – not in the bit we've got, anyway."

"They normally do."

"I don't think Trelawney wrote this one, idiot. My father hated the woman."

"Why, because she made a prediction about his precious Dark Lord?"

"No, because she's a batty old cow."

"Fair enough."

"What's all this number crap? '_A dozen plus their sum, hence squar'd_'? How many's 'Their sum', anyway?"

"I think, Fred, that that's half the point."

"Sod off, Malfoy."

"Fred! Don't talk to your in-laws like that!"

"Piss. Off. Potter."

"Sore spot, George?"

"You'll have a sore spot, if you don't watch it…"

"You and whose army?"

"My right arm-y."

"Bloody hell, will you two just shut it?"

"Yeah – shut up for five minutes. We're trying to concentrate."

"Why concentrate when Sirius is down stairs? He can concentrate for us."

"You're trying to tell us Sirius Black has an attention span longer than an amnesiac goldfish?"

"He likes riddles. Prat."

"Him or Sirius?"

"Or both?"

"Well, now you mention it…"

Draco snatched the paper from George's hand and climbed over the bed, towards the door, "In that case, we show Sirius."

"No! Wait!" The Twins cried together, scrambling after him. "There's a rule –"

"- no grown ups – "

"- unless the situation's life-threatening."

"_Absolutely_ life threatening."

"We'd never have guessed."

"Well, I'm sorry, but if this is a clue on how to get me out of this Pursanite thing – "

"Look, wait a week. There's a party, right - "

" – New Years' Party – "

" – down in the village – "

" – Oscar's parents are going away – "

" – so he and his sis – "

" – are having a knees-up – "

" – practically anyone's invited anyway – "

" – write to Ronniekins and Brainbox - "

" – we all meet there – "

" – six heads are better than four – "

" – well… depends on the heads, actually – "

" – and Hermione's the only one other than us – "

" – who even stands a _chance_ –"

" – of getting it right."

Draco hesitated, looking at Harry. If this was his way out of this stupid situation, he'd rather just take the quickest route. What was the point in letting the M…Muggle-born look at it when there was a fully-qualified wizard downstairs?

"We've always done it our way," Harry admitted, shrugging. "It's worth a try…"

"Party, you say?"

"Yep. Party."

"Loads of spare rooms – "

" – maybe somewhere we can even look at _this_ – "

" – yeah… Hang on – as opposed to what, Fred?"

Fred gave him a wicked grin.

"My God, you're so bloody funny you and him. You should be a double act."

"So is that settled, then?" Draco interrupted, loudly, knowing his face was burning but powerless to do anything but try to change the subject.

"Yeah, I think so – we go to the party, try to get Fuzz-ball to decipher this and…" Fred opened his mouth, but paused, waiting for optimum reaction.

"Say it, Weasley, I dare you. I will, unfortunately have to render your relationship with George Mk II a lesbian one when I _tear your – "_

"Oi – oi, Draco, calm down!"

"Just drop it, alright? It wasn't funny before, and it's still not. It will probably never be. So – just – stop."

There was a moment's silence, and the Harry said, "Well, now we know who's got the sore spot…"

Much later, when Harry's nose finally stopped bleeding from the damage inflicted by the book Draco had thrown at him and they'd arranged for him to write to the others, both boys saw the Twins to the door, some semblance of a truce attained for the time being. Harry stood leaning against the living room doorframe while Fred stomped out into the snow, kicking at the new powder layer while George made a great show of hugging Draco tenderly to wind Harry up.

"You're not funny, you know," Harry told him, arms folded across his chest.

"Yes, I am, I'm bloody hilarious," George insisted, grinning, and grabbed Draco by the cheeks and tried to plant a kiss on the middle of his forehead. Draco ducked away and after some scrapping George eventually settled for getting him in a near head-lock and kissing him on the crown instead. "See: hysterical."

"Oh yuk! I can't believe you did that! I don't know where your mouth has been, Pumpkin-head!"

"Well, you do now."

Draco grimaced and slammed the door. The sound of riotous laughter could clearly be heard from outside. Harry stared at him non-plussed for a few moments before turning and sauntering back into the living room, muttering, "He fancies you."

Draco stayed where he was for a minute, grinning to himself in irregular parts amused, content and happy, before leaning on the doorframe and calling, "Yeah, so what if he does?"

Harry didn't reply, but the sound of him kicking the coffee table said plenty.


	16. Chapter XIVi So See the Survivor in Con...

**Please note that this is a single chapter split into two parts.**

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**Chapter XIV: Part One**

**So See the Survivor in Control **

_"You won't know how well you've played until you've won…" Embrace _

Sirius blinked his eyes open on Boxing Day morning and found, for a change, that a sandy-haired someone was still curled up asleep beside him in the bed. He blearily smiled and raised a hand to smooth the collar of his pyjama shirt. Remus was facing away from him, nuzzled down into the pillow, but he was still very much asleep. He looked serene when he slept.

Despite his wry projection of cheerfulness when he was awake, Remus always seemed faintly troubled. There wasn't much that was enigmatic about Remus when you could read him the way Sirius could – when you'd known him since he was a boy and watched him carefully construct tidy little barriers until some people thought of him as an exhibit at a museum, hidden behind plate glass. To those who didn't understand, the safe distance he kept between himself and the rest of the world was simply reserve and respectful detachment.

There was still nothing happening between them. He was growing used to it, now. Slowly. It was frustrating, of course, but it was considerably more appealing than the prospect of being stuck all alone every night again. He smiled again at the thought, because no, Remus was here and by hook or by crook, that was where he was going to stay. Sirius pushed himself up on his elbow and brushed the hair back from his face before it promptly fell back into his eyes again as he leaned over the other man about to kiss the side of his mouth. But he stopped sharply when he looked down at the hand pressed half underneath Remus's face. The too-long sleeves he liked were pushed back and on the pale plane of his wrist was a mark. Several marks. A great, distorted mess of marks. They were pits of twisted pink; and covered almost the whole area.

Sirius froze, feeling as though someone had just walked over his grave. He swallowed. Transformation scars; worse than he had seen in the past. They were jagged and looked as though the skin had been torn, the work of claws and teeth, and had never seen the healing work of Poppy Pomfrey or anyone of her skill.

Remus jolted awake as if someone had pinched him, and reflexively pulled his hand under the covers; it was obvious, though, that it was too late. And he knew so. The slumber blush on his cheeks vanished instantaneously. He looked stunned; horrified. He'd had no intention of Sirius seeing them, evidently. Sirius stared at him for a moment before grasping at his hand; Remus pulled back, looking away. He looked embarrassed and rather ashamed.

"Is this what you've been hiding from me? Are there more?"

"I would have told you…"

"When? You said the same thing about everything else you've been keeping from me…"

"This is _mine_ – this is not something you needed to know."

"There you go again, deciding what I need to know and what you can keep hidden from me like I'm a fucking kid… Moony… _why_? And _when_? Fuck when - _how_? Why did no one ever --? What made you think you needed to hide them? After the past few weeks…I mean, Christ..."

Remus hesitated for a moment, not looking at the scars, or anywhere near them, then said, "I hide them from myself. Why should you be any different?"

Sirius dropped his hand and instead cupped Remus's face so he couldn't move away, "You _didn't_ have to hide this from me, Moo. What do I have to do to prove to you I'm not a kid? It's not even that you kept it from me, it's that you're acting like I need protecting, that gets me! It's as if you're ashamed -"

"I _am_ ashamed of them!"

Sirius gave a small smirk and stroked his face, "You would be. Always too bothered about what's on the outside for people to see, aren't you?"

"I have to be…"

"Not with me. What do you think I'm going to do, leave? I've seen this all before, Moo."

Remus gave a deep sigh and pushed Sirius's hand away gently, before pushing back the covers and sitting up on the edge of the bed. For a minute, Sirius didn't think he was going to say anything, and that he would just get up and go downstairs; but then he spoke, quietly.

He wouldn't even look at him, fixing his gaze instead on the carved wooden foot of the bed, "After a certain amount of time you almost forget what it is you're hiding."

"You forget what you're hiding every morning as you put on your shirts with sleeves that come down over your fingers, and then your sodding jumpers and then your robes and at bed time your pyjamas, just the same – sleeves so long your second knuckles are half covered? Fifteen year olds do that, Remus. Remember Juniper Green? I do. I remember how everyone used to take the piss about her long sleeves and then we found out why – because she had arms that looked like yours when the Moon's waning. See? I remember the bad stuff – the stuff that gave Wormtail nightmares for weeks, the snivelling little shit – I'm not that stupid I can't remember so – "

"Stop it, Sirius!"

"Moo…" Sirius whispered, crawling nearer and reaching out to wrap his arms around him. He tried to pull him close and pull the sandy head to his chest, but the other man gently pulled back.

"There's no need. I have no intention of crying."

"No, of course not. Silly me." He paused, giving up and allowing his hands to fall in to his lap, instead. "Is there anything else?"

"Pardon?"

"Is there anything else I should know? Any other nasty surprises I should expect over the next twenty years? Because _I_ want to be able to move on from what happened to us, even if you don't. I've had enough, Moony. I'm not in prison any more, so I want to stop feeling like… like I'm being deprived of an _actual life_. It's like doing this million-piece jigsaw and only getting one or two of the last bits when someone else says I can. It's just fucking unbearable! Really. Please. Let's just stop playing games and _get over it_, for God's sake!" Remus looked at him side-long and opened his mouth to speak, but Sirius cut in, "Mention the word 'sex', Remus, and it will be the last thing you ever do…"

Remus gave a small, sharp exhalation of breath, somewhere between a sigh and a huff, and pushed his fingers through his uncombed hair. His eyes wandered across the carpet, dismally, as if looking for some sort of prompt. "I didn't want to upset you again. It's just so worrying, the idea of losing you into yourself – or to anything else – purely because of the traumas I've already managed to deal with."

"And waking up to _that_ on Boxing Day isn't even a bit disturbing, obviously."

Remus looked at him coolly for a moment, before continuing. "Siri, I've tried to explain to you so many times, what happened while you were in Azkaban – "

"Changed you. Yeah, yeah – I know that. I can _see_ that. I just want to know what the fuck actually _did_ happen so that I can have some idea of how that changed you. Don't you understand that?"

"Well, yes – up to a point – "

"The thing is, right, you don't want to accept that maybe I'm not the one with all the problems to worry about. Maybe it's _not_ me, maybe you're just blaming me for being screwed up just so you don't have to face up to the fact that _you_ are the one no good at being an adult."

"I'm putting on a perfectly good performance of managing so far."

"There's a difference between an adult and an authority figure, Remus. And there's a difference between acting like you're managing alright and _really_ managing alright. You're a bloody control freak – that bit hasn't changed at all, has it? And now you want me to fit into this little box of 'Poor, Vulnerable Sirius, All Fucked Up by Prison' so you can use that excuse not to let yourself get close to me again. And Harry's not your kid, so you still _treat him_ like someone you hardly know, even though you and I both know that if something bad actually happened, and we lost him – "

"Sirius, don't!" the other man cut in sharply, looking as though he had a vile taste in his mouth. "Don't."

And then, Sirius really began to see the light. And it had been there all the time, if he'd just looked. "You really are scared of losing everything again, aren't you? That's what this is all about. And you bloody said so, and everything, but I thought that was just you being bloody neurotic! You reckon that if you let people close to you and drop your barriers for a second we're all going to get right back under your skin and then we're all going to leave you again, don't you?"

"Siri…"

"Don't you? Answer me."

Remus closed his eyes and hunched his shoulders slightly, swallowing.

"Moony…"

"Once was lesson enough, Sirius."

"So what, you're going to just keep pushing us away all the time, and that's it? What are you saying?"

"I don't know."

"Well, I know I fucking don't."

"Look – "

"You have _got_ to get over this! If not for our fucking sake, for Harry's! He needs you, as well."

"I know! But you just don't understand – "

"Of course I don't understand, you won't bloody talk to me!"

"Sirius, when I say I've changed I don't mean solely in deep and mysterious ways, I mean – "

"You're now mid-thirties, going grey and have crows feet. We've had the conversation about this before, seventeen years ago: 'Oh but you're such a stud who all the girls fancy, Sirius' – I'm not in it for looks, Moo, I love you anyway! That doesn't matter to me! I mean… I'm not saying I don't fancy you or anything… I just…Oh crap…you know what I mean."

"We had this conversation seventeen years ago, too."

"Shut up."

"Sirius, the simple fact is, we have not just left school after seven years of living together. We – "

"Have only spent the past seven or eight months in the same house, but who's counting?"

"What if you realise that I'm just not close enough to the person you think you remember for this to work?"

"I dunno, you'll have to ask the person I was back then."

"Don't – "

"I'm not taking the piss, I'm making a point. I – love – you. I love you _now_. Alright? I don't want to go anywhere or do anything or be with anyone else. At all. Now, I'm saying this slowly so you'll understand, I. Love. You. Je t'aime. Ti amo. Ich… something. Can't remember the German one…"

Remus gave him a small, lop-sided smile and said, "Ol fleignog."

"No, it wasn't that."

"Trollop."

"If I didn't know that was a language – which I didn't know you spoke, by the way – I'd be quite put out by that."

"Terribly sorry."

"No, you're not."

"Well, to be honest, no, I'm not, particularly. And I don't speak it, really, I just picked it up."

"When was the last time a Lowland Troll told you they loved you?"

"About thirty seconds ago."

"I walked into that."

"You did."

"Come here."

"I am here."

"No, _here_." Sirius held out his arms, and half dragged a semi-reluctant Remus on to the pillow beside him, where he slipped an arm around him and placed a pair of scratchy kisses on his cheek. "I love you. Seriously."

Remus gave a soft smile and murmured, "I know you do."

"So are you going to _learn_ to trust me?"

"I trust you, Padfoot, of course I trust you…"

"Then be honest with me. If you've got more stuff you're trying to pretend never happened, just bloody tell me now so we can get past it."

Remus sighed and rested his head against Sirius' shoulder, settling down slightly and slipping his fingers between the ones rested on his waist. "I suppose I just forget they're there, all the things that matter. I had to survive, whatever it took. I just blocked them out."

"What would I have done without you?" Sirius asked softly, a sardonic smile creeping across his lips.

"Knowing you, you would have come out of Azkaban and spent all your money on drink, women and motorcycle parts."

"Nah… I out-grew women ages ago."

"You mean _they_ out-grew you."

"Oi! I thought you were meant to be taking care of my terribly-fragile-handle-with-care-this-way-up self-identity! Shut up."

Remus laughed, and for a moment his eyes shined. It was a beautiful thing to behold, something James had once jokily immortalised in poetic mockery, declaring it to be "A vision of the Sun whence unveiled from his shrine of cloud and gifting warmth upon the humble land." In fact, the result had been Peter gifting James with pumpkin juice all over his jumper.

"I _really_ want to sort this out, Moo," Sirius persisted, slipping a hand up to his neck and stroking his cheek with his thumb. He watched as Remus sighed and his eyes softened to a slightly sorrowful green, with mere flecks of amber creeping towards the edges.

"So do I."

"So what do I _do_?"

"You're doing fine."

"Not that fine, obviously."

"I _do_ love you, Padfoot, even if I'm a little…"

"Cold?"

"Distant, was the word I was looking for. I learned not to need anyone, which you should realise was quite a feat… I'm having to re-learn skills greater than not eating rats in public."

"Yours is not to eat small children in public."

Remus raised an eyebrow and surveyed him with unamused interest.

"Sorry."

"I'll believe it when Hell freezes over."

"You could eat _me_, I wouldn't complain."

"Any excuse to get bits of your anatomy in my mouth with you, isn't it?" Remus said drily, catching Sirius's wrist before he could reach out and grope him.

"Now who's the one with sex on the brain?"

"You, Sirius. It's invariably you."

"Liar. I may not remember everything, but what I _do_ remember…" he gave a salacious grin and licked his bottom lip, looking more like wolf studying its prey than Remus ever had.

"Is a figment of your perverse imagination," Remus laughed and allowed himself to be kissed before gently pushing Sirius back on to the bed. He rolled on to his side to face him and said nothing for a moment. "Are you getting bored yet?" he asked, eventually, pulling at a strand of Sirius's dark hair.

"Bored of what?"

"I'm working on it, I promise."

"What?"

Remus blushed slightly and didn't hold his gaze. "Part of that is _this_," he said, and they both glanced at the scars on his wrist where the material was no longer self-consciously pulled over his hands. "I was sure that you would see and I didn't want to face this, yet, but I was working on it. Honestly."

Sirius leaned nearer and kissed him on the forehead, whispering, "Okay."

"I'm covered in scars, you know. Covered in them." He gave a faint smile and explained, "Once I left school… once it all happened, there was no one to heal them. By the time I'd come round from the transformation back they would have healed themselves because of the process of transforming…"

"The healing?"

Remus nodded. "Not as neat as Poppy's by a long way, I'm afraid."

"That's alright; that's what I assumed. I've seen you stark naked with what looked like chunks of skin hanging of you, remember? Developed a strong enough stomach to cope. I think."

"I can't say that having you throw up at the sight of me naked would do much good for the old self-esteem." Remus said with a soft chuckle.

"What about in the dark?"

Remus hesitated for a moment before taking Sirius' hand and commanding him to close his eyes. Sirius did so, and then found his hand guided to a patch of warm, uneven flesh. He stroked with his finger tips like a blind man feeling out an image for a few moments before stopping and placing his hand flat over the ribbed skin.

"Tell me you wouldn't have noticed," Remus challenged softly.

Sirius opened his eyes and looked down at the lattice of scars on the other man's chest, just visible between the few undone buttons. "I can't," he admitted, "but it wouldn't have mattered, Moo."

"It would to me. I think I really thought that you would see the state of me and be repulsed, and after that it would only be a matter of time before you lots interest altogether… I would never have blamed you. These are a reminder of what I am, every day, regardless of the state of the Moon. They're also a reminder of what I could do to another if I came across them in that state…"

"But you've always known, Re, it's not as if this is something new…"

"No, that's very true. But once upon a time it was almost fun. For the past decade and a half it has kept me from being an actual person as far as most people are concerned. That's what _I_ remember."

Sighing, Sirius moved himself closer and pulled Remus into his arms; Remus wrapped an arm around him and for a few minutes they lay curled together in silence. Experimentally, Sirius slipped his hand beneath Remus' pyjama shirt, seeking out the marks he had left upon himself. There seemed to be many. Some tiny enough that they could have been mistaken for creases left by the folds of bedclothes he had laid upon, others great, thick ridges where skin had been gashed by claws. Softly, he rubbed them with his fingers, almost as though subconsciously trying to smooth them away.

He was surprised by the feel of lips on his neck; just gently pressing a kiss to the skin, but definitely there. And then again. And again. The tiniest, most hesitant kisses. He pulled back a little to look down at the other man, who responded by nuzzling nearer and squeezing him tight.

"Don't quote me on it," Remus said, languidly, "but I think the working on it is working." He proceeded to let out a small chuckle and took a playful nip at Sirius' shoulder. "Slowly."

"Slowly," Sirius echoed, nodding and pinching him where his fingers had been exploring. "As if I expected anything else."

"I appreciate your patience. Or I would if I thought you thought you had any choice in the matter."  
"_Do I_ have any choice in the matter?"

"None."

"Right." There was a pause, then Sirius said, "You know what I think?"

"Nothing if it doesn't involve sexual gratification."

"Shut up, smart arse. Do you want me to tell you or not?"

Remus rolled his eyes, "Go on, Casanova."

"I think that you and I need to go away."

Remus looked up at him in surprise. "I'm sorry?"

"I think we should go away. Anywhere. The boys will be safe enough if we send them up to the castle for the night."

"I don't think we can really abandon the boys here for a dirty weekend, Siri. Not now."

"Now who's got sex on the brain? I just meant that I think we need a break. Once term starts again I'll be looking after a bunch of brats full-time, won't I? Come on…"

Remus tried to pull away and sit up, attempting to escape far enough that Sirius' proximity was less persuasive. But Sirius' hand followed and tugged gently on his pyjama shirt.

"We could go home," he offered, rolling on to his back and resting the other hand on his stomach, subtly adjusting the other to seek out more scars on Remus' side.

"What do you mean by that?"

"We could go back to Hastings."

The suggestion surprised Remus into complete silence. He wasn't sure whether that was in any way a good idea – and yet far from convinced that it wasn't. To return there would bring back memories for both of them, that was certain, but he did love the South Coast. It was just so quintessentially English and reminded him of the sophisticated Victorians with its tall, white seaside mansions in terraced rows, ludicrous palm trees that were clearly imported and clusters of old-age pensioners catching feeble rays of sun with overly-dark sunglasses and melting ice-cream cones while wearing thick, knitted cardigans and white, standard-issue sandals. Even in winter, when the tourists were mostly seeking warmer climes in Spain or the South of France, the chill and the sea-spray whipping through the air captured his imagination. The power of the sea – so changeable and so familiar - always beckoned to him. He smiled inwardly, and silently added, "And there would be no blasted snow…"

But still, there were memories. Memories of James – and Peter. Memories he didn't think Sirius would enjoy re-living. And there he went again, deciding for him what Sirius was fit to endure. He reprimanded himself; Sirius would have to face all this at some point. Perhaps it should be sooner, rather than later, even if the idea of returning not only to the South Coast, but to the very places that had meant so much to them in their youth, hurt – wrenching at his insides like a particularly violent portkey back to two decades ago. The dunes where they had first got themselves cataclysmically drunk, the beach where they had played games that summer in the 1970s and Sirius had been stupid enough to actually kiss him, the tiny cinema where they had tried to sneak in to films they were not old enough to see – and the triumph when they finally succeeded…

"Moony?"

Remus glanced down at him, offering a thoughtful smile.

"It'd be nice, wouldn't it? Just you and me? Fish and chips in one of the little restaurants on the sea front? Probably too cold to actually eat it on the beach, like we all used to, but still…" he paused. "I need to go there at some point, and you need to get away. I know you do. You're getting all wound up with the responsibility and this'd be a great chance to have a rest. I'll take care of everything, eh? Maybe we can go over New Year – fresh start and all that." He sat up and rested an unshaven chin on Remus's shoulder, hugging him lightly from behind. "Please?"

Remus took a deep breath and looked down at him for a moment. Finally, he sighed and gave in. "Alright," he said, reaching up to gently pat the other man's cheek, "but it doesn't mean I'll sleep with you."

December 31, 1995, dawned bright, crisp and utterly manic at the cottage. Draco had clearly not just fallen out of the wrong side of bed, that morning, but seemed to have missed his sleep entirely and was snappish and bad-tempered. It wasn't remotely helpful that Harry – filled with the joys of the imminent return of Gavin Cross – was feeling exuberantly… _gay_; in the classical sense of the word. It all culminated with a projectile scone hitting Sirius jam-side up on the side of the face and a boot-campish lecture on behaviour in the absence of parental guidance, which featured the latter forcing two well-reprimanded teenagers to stand by the sink while he marched back and forth listing his expectations.

Mid-way through, and despite it being barely half-past nine in the morning, George appeared and was immediately drafted into their ranks. The final demand, initially levied at Harry, that "This house is not a bleeding knocking-shop, alright? So no treating it like one!" was, after a suspicious look very similar to one often aimed at Gavin but in this instance directed at George, altered to assure them that it did, in fact, apply to everyone. The red-head responded by clicking his heels to attention, offering a Nazi salute and a loud and forceful, "JA, MEIN FUHRER!"

Remus walked into the room just in time to see him clipped lightly around the ear in retribution.

"Padfoot, stop brutalising the children," he said absently, before looking around, bemused, and wandering back out as if searching for something.

For a moment, Sirius looked torn between continuing to lambaste the three boys and following Remus to see what he was fretting about. He settled for a warning scowl and an ominous point at each of them, then trotted after him. George continued to stare into space for a few moments before muttering, wistfully, "The Great Marauders… blood _domesticated_. It's like the day the Beatles split."

"Well if the house isn't a 'knocking shop' as he so eloquently put it, at least we know why they're going away…" Draco replied, unfolding his arms and pushing his hair out of his face before walking towards the door and summoning the older boy with a sharp, "_George_."

Harry watched in disbelief as the older boy smirked to himself and followed obediently.

Half an hour later, all three were summoned back on to the landing where the grown ups were now waiting with a single bag, wearing Muggle clothes. "Now take care, tonight, boys," Remus said, pulling on his mittens and fixing each of them with a serious look. "We're only letting you stay here because – "

"- Because Hermione's coming," Sirius cut in.

"No, it's because we're giving you a chance to earn our trust. If you abuse that you will only make things harder for yourselves in future, is that understood?"

"Yes, mum."

"Good."

"And like I said downstairs," Sirius added, "Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

Remus gave a heavy sigh and looked at him impatiently, "So essentially, just about anything except their own laundry?" He tutted while the boys suppressed sniggers and gave the other man a gentle shove towards the stairs. "We'll be back tomorrow evening."

"Happy New Year," Harry said, waving them off.

"Have one for me," George added, with a toothy grin.

"Remus doesn't drink."

"Who said anything about drink?"

Harry stared at him for a moment before walking into his bedroom, declaring, "I think I'm going to be sick."

Draco gave an impatient huff and made his way back into is own room, throwing himself across the bed so that his arms and head hung off the other side. George followed him in, shutting the door. "What's the matter, Snowflake?" he asked, climbing on to sit against the headboard.

Draco made an indistinguishable grumble.

"Oh, right, _obviously_."

Draco grumbled exactly the same way, but somewhat louder.

"I don't speak Girly Tantrum, mate, you'll have to do your own translating."

Reluctantly, Draco dragged himself back on to the bed and scowled at him. "_He's_ going."

"Right," George nodded, "So, now you've told me the punch-line do I get the rest of the story or just that?"

"_Gavin Cross_, stupid. Gavin's going to be here, isn't he?"

"That's it?"

"Yes! Yes, that is it! I'm going to have to spend the first New Year of my life since… _since it all happened_ at a party with Harry-bloody-Potter and his stupid bloody boyfriend!"

"We don't have to hang around with them all night, or anything, _misery-guts_," George said, prodding him with one foot. "They'll probably be off shagging under a pile of coats by quarter-past nine, anyway."

"Great. Thanks, George. That makes me feel so much better."

"Oh, stop whining."

"_Pumpkiiiin_," Draco pouted, folding his arms and giving him a distinctly child-like pleading look, "Can't you play some sort of prank on them? Something really, really mean? And debilitating?"

"Not when I'm staying in Harry's house afterward, I'm not, no."

"Not even for me?"

"Especially not for you!" George laughed. "You're a Slytherin! Think up your own evil deeds."

"I'm delegating."

"I'm not under your employ – thank fuck – so you can 'delegate' as much as you like, I'm not getting involved. I've already told you, anyway: leave them alone. They're obviously happy enough. Stop being a selfish little bastard."

Draco stared at him for a moment, looking as though he were about to either scream, attack or cry – or possibly all of the above – but instead slumped down further against the footboard and said, "Sorry."

George raised an eyebrow at him, not believing it for a minute.

"It's just that you're so _good_ at these things… I don't suppose anything I came up with would be as good as a classic Weasley Wheeze…"

"No."

"Not even an engorgement charm or something?"

"Not one."

"Not even if- ?"

"I thought you wanted to make life hard for Harry, not make him think all his Christmases have come at once. No pun intended."

"I hate you."

"I know, but let's face it, if you don't hang around with me tonight you're going to look like a total Billy No Mates, so I'd be nice, if I were you."

"That's blackmail."

"So you should have a pretty good grasp of the terms, really, shouldn't you?"

"Stop out-smarting me, you… _Slythindor_!"

"Wow, that one really cut to the quick, that did."

Draco gave an infuriated growl and threw the nearest thing to hand at him. Which would have been fine had it not been a pair of underpants from the pile of neatly-folded washing Remus had left next to his bed. George was too busy laughing to even make a jibe at his expense. Draco buried his face in his hands and declared, "I want to die. Again."

"At least they're not Super Ted ones."

"Shut up!"

"Well, I suppose at least now when Fred accuses me of trying to get into your pants he'll actually have a leg to stand on."

Draco found this concept shocking enough to raise his head from his hands and say, "He what?"

George laughed to himself, "You know Fred…"

The blond boy raised an eyebrow suspiciously and said, "Up to a point."

"Don't get too excited, Princess, he's a wind up merchant. He'll say anything to get a rise out of people."

"Oh and I could never have worked that out for myself…And don't you _dare_ call me 'Princess'!"

George laughed at him unabashedly.

"Pumpkin, it's not funny," Draco protested self-pityingly, wrapping his arms around himself and preparing for a proper sulk. "I'm _miserable_."

The older boy sighed and resignedly moved nearer. "Snowflake, I've warned you already. Get over it – just, one way or another, get over it before you get completely out of your tree about it."

"Oh, right – easy for you to say," Draco retorted, "the most significant relationship you've had is best described as 'Friends with Benefits'. I don't think you're in much of a position to tell me about feelings, thank you."

George looked at him for a moment, chewing on his lip as if suppressing what he wanted to say. He finally settled on, "That genuinely _did_ hurt, mate. Cheers."

They sat in uncomfortable silence for a few moments before Draco murmured, "I go out of my way to make people hate me, don't I?"

"I don't hate you."

"I think Harry does, sometimes."

"Harry hates everything, half the time. It doesn't make you special."

"Should I be pleased about that?"

"Well, let's face it, mate, you stand out enough already."

Draco looked at him, unamused, "I do, do I?"

"You're the proverbial Screaming Queen, and you're a Malfoy with Malfoy looks. Of course you do."

The blond boy stared up at him in alarm.

"Drac, everyone _knows_ – or thinks they do. The kids in my house call you the 'Faerie Queen'… I think the Irish munchkin's responsible, for some reason, but I wouldn't take them seriously anyway…"

"As if losing my entire family wasn't enough I now have to wave goodbye to all credibility too, do I? Fantastic. Thank you for that, George."

"Look, it's _okay_ – I mean, we can't be the only ones. I know there's Harry and Gavin, obviously, but statistically, in a school this big… it's meant to be about one in five of us, isn't it? That's what the gaydar's for."

"I don't care about everyone else. I care about me. I care that I can be a laughing stock without even realising it."

"You shouldn't – I mean, you're _not_. Not really. Ninety per cent of the jokes and rumours in this school come from me and Fred anyway, and we're not going to say anything."

"Maybe I should just get up on the teacher's table on the day everyone gets back from holiday and sing Copa Cabaña wearing nothing but a pink G-string, just to make sure everyone gets the message."

"Who cares what they think?"

"Me. I'm apparently a classic gay archetype, I have to. Remind me never to come to you when I'm depressed. You'd probably hand me the rope, wouldn't you?"

George gave a small sigh of laughter and moved nearer, dragging him into a rough hug. "No one else matters, Snowflake. Try being into blokes and _ginger_ and see how you like it."

"I'll have that rope, now, please."

"No. We've got a party to go to. Shouldn't you start getting ready or something? We've only got another ten or eleven hours before we have to be there."

"Sod. Off. You're as much of a bitch as I am, you know."

"Oh yeah, of course, I just make it manly."

"I'm assuming that was irony."

"Not at all, not at all." George stood up and stretched.

"Well, whatever. Are you coming back?"

"Don't worry, I'll be here to make sure all the nasty Ravenclaws that are invading later don't eat you."

"Good." He watched as George ruffled his hair idly, then sauntered towards the door. "George," he said, and the other boy stopped and turned to look at him, one hand on the door, one on the doorframe, "You're tall, good looking and popular; it's never going to be difficult for you."

The older boy hesitated for a few seconds, staring at him intently, before chuckling and closing the door behind him.

Next door, Harry was looking around his bedroom with a vaguely irritable glare. If they thought he was having his boyfriend stay over and nothing happen they were sadly mistaken. He just hoped that Gavin had the foresight to bring the relevant supplies, because in the Muggle World going into a chemist was quite embarrassing enough; in their world… Harry didn't even want to consider the headlines. The question was, with Remus' gifts precisely how safe from being literally caught with their trousers down were they? What did he go on, anyway? If it was his sense of smell by God Harry was glad he wasn't a lycanthrope himself; if it was those things – those pheromone things – then… would a room freshening spell (courtesy of Hermione, and inevitably subject to suspicious looks and tiresome lectures) suffice? Debatable. But to be frank, Harry wasn't sure he cared if they knew, really. It wasn't as if it was just _anyone_. They knew how he felt about Gavin – it wasn't just some stupid fling! The rules were stupid to begin with.

He whiled away a couple of hours tidying up bits of his room or else lounging around uselessly, until a sharp knock came at his bedroom door. A short, sharp, self-important knock that could only have belonged to Draco even if the house had not been entirely empty, save for the two of them. He was lucky the other boy had knocked at all.

Harry pushed himself up onto his elbows and grunted, "What?" impatiently.

The door opened to reveal the Slytherin, leaning on the door frame and looking equally irritable. "I'm hungry," he declared, and looked at Harry expectantly.

"What do you want, a medal?"

"No, I want some lunch."

"Well you know where the kitchen is, don't you?"

Draco gave him a very false smile and said, "Thanks to your experimental groping with Captain Chubby and his Man Breasts, yes, I do. _Right beneath your bedroom_."

Harry scowled and resolutely flopped onto his back. _Slagging off my boyfriend is obviously the way to a sandwich, isn't it, idiot?_

"Would you prefer I attempted to cook myself? It could all end in… well, less tears than ashes, really. I've never been _required_ to learn to cook and you know what I'm like with combustibles."

"Are you incapable of making a sandwich yourself?"

"How do I make a sandwich?"

"Yes."

"No, fool, _how_ do I make a sandwich?"

Harry propped himself back up in his elbows and stared at him as through he was looking at the most incompetent person on the face of the Earth, and that the very act of realising this was rather a daunting one. He spoke very, very slowly; "You get two bits of bread, yeah? Y'know - that white fluffy stuff with the brown bit around the edge? You put something on one bit, like ham or cheese or a dead ferret – we call this 'The Filling', then put the spare bit on top. That is what we call A Sandwich."

"How do you cook it?"

"You are surely, _surely_ taking the piss, now."

Draco raised his eyebrows, innocently, "You mean while it's cooking?"

"Not even a bit funny, you upper-class twat."

"You could always show me."

"Oh yeah, because we mustn't confuse the dumb blond or anything…"

"How rude!"

"Shut up," Harry said, reluctantly rolling off his bed, "You revel in it. Why don't you just go and get George to make you one?"

"I maybe a 'dumb blond', Harry, but I'm not entirely stupid. He's not above a Canary Cream."

Harry gave Draco a small shove as he passed him in the doorway, "So, basically I'm the safe option."

"Frankly, you're a last resort."

Harry tried so hard not to smile he ended up looking like he was chewing a wasp and was glad the other boy was following behind him or he'd be mocked incessantly for days. He led the way into the kitchen, taking some bread from the bread bin with one hand and laying out the chopping board with the other. "So what do you want in your sandwich, Your Lordship?"

"Caviar," Draco told him, with deliberate sarcasm.

"That's gross!" Harry said, grimacing, "You actually want to eat fish eggs? Can't you just have salami or something?"

"Mmm, slices of scab."

"Cheese?"

"Calf stomach filled with mould?"

"What about cucumber? Surely you can't complain about cucumber, you posh git?"

"Cucumber is fine. Provided it's not the one that man claims he landed on after he fell off his ladder…"

"Landed on…" Harry muttered, smirking. "I bet he did. Repeatedly."

"Good God, you sound like Pumpkin-head."

"You mean 'George'."

"Yes, him."

"Lucky me. Does that mean I get to speak to you again, now? Or only when I'm making your sandwiches?"

Draco sighed and slouched into a chair. "You act as if you never see me."

"That's because I don't, probably."

"Harry, we live in the same house…For the moment."

"Not that you'd know it. Except when I am called upon to make your sandwiches."

Draco shrugged, but Harry wasn't watching. "I thought you'd be pleased to get rid of the burden."

Harry put down his knife and stared at him, nibbling a piece of cucumber. "If I wanted to get rid of you, Drac, I would have told you to bugger off up to the castle."

"Drac-_o_. And Remus would never have allowed that – banishing one of his lost causes."

"Wouldn't have stopped me saying it, though. And what's your problem, anyway – why is George allowed to call you 'Drac' and I get bollocked every time I do?"

"It's because it annoys you," Draco told him, with a matter-of-fact smirk.

"Now why didn't I think of that?" Harry asked, turning back to his chopping board.

"Because you're a stupid Gryffindor."

"So's he."

"No, _he's_ not stupid…"

"Neither am I, and I tell you something, for him to be over here all the time – _all the time_ – he must have a pretty big crush on you."

Draco rolled his eyes and settled down for another raging debate, "So what if he does?" he said, wearily.

"So you're admitting you think he does?"

"No, I'm saying that it makes no difference to me. I also don't believe it for an instant."

"I don't believe _that_ for an instant, either…Look, I've known George since he was thirteen – "

"But you don't seem to know him that well at all. In fact, you can't even tell him apart from Fred, so I think we can safely assume that you can't know him any better than me. The person _you_ think you know may be some awful amalgamation of both of them."

"I know my friends, Draco!" Harry insisted with an incredulous laugh, turning back to face him and skidding a plate across the table at him.

"Well, if that's what you like to think…" Draco replied, pulling the plate towards him. He prodded one before giving Harry an accusing look, "You didn't even cut the crusts off! Cucumber sandwiches do not have _crusts,_ you uncultured, plebeian slob!"

"So eat around them, you fussy, pretentious ponce." Harry pulled out a chair and leaned across the table as if trying desperately to make him comprehend, be reasonable, and just accept that his way was right and Draco would agree if only he understood what Harry was saying. "You really don't understand, Draco. He's not all the noble side of Gryffindor. Neither of them are! These are guys who turn people into budgies – "

"Canaries."

"-canaries… just for a laugh. They're alright in small doses, but seriously, the Twins are bad news. They're sly, they can be really bloody cruel sometimes, and they never take anything seriously. Ever."

"Well, it's good to know you've met Fred."

Harry slumped back into his own chair and gave a somewhat condescending huff, shaking his head.

"You don't seem to appreciate, Harry, that they are not The Twins, they are George Weasley and Fred Weasley. Individual people with individual personalities. They may look the same, and they may be immensely close, but they're actually real people."

"They're just the same…"

"Don't be so ridiculous! I know George well enough that I can safely say he is a decent person… _loosely speaking_… but then so is your godfather,_ loosely speaking,_ and I don't see you complaining."

"I reckon you fancy him."

"Don't be ridiculous, Potter."

"I do."

"Whatever would Cross say? And you didn't cut this cucumber thinly enough."

"You know what I meant."

"The simple fact is, George and I get on very well. There are no strings, no complexes and no pressure. I like it that way."

"And what about George?"

"George can do what he likes."

Draco was standing in front of the tiny mirror when George walked in, not even bothering to knock. He was trying to do something with his hair that was in some way different from usual. Parting it slightly to the right instead of slightly to the left seemed rather pathetic and sweeping it across his forehead like the man on the cover of George's Muggle music magazine made him look like he should be given a mug of warm milk and sent to bed with his teddy. Eventually, he shook his head irritably and watched in annoyance as the hair fell back into its usual style.

"You nearly ready, or do I have to wait for your nail varnish to dry?"

"Oh, go away."

"You look fine."

"I haven't even changed, yet!"

"What, always wander around in designer jeans, do you?"

"Well it's not as if _I_ bought them! My mother has a tailor attend us; he just brings some things, measures us up and …" he trailed off. And his eyes dropped from the mirror despondently, "Or, he used to. I don't know what happens, now…"

George clamped a hand on to his shoulder and guided him backwards to sit on the bed, then settled down beside him. "Speak," he ordered, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees and gaze down at the carpet.

"I forgot…for a moment."

George nodded and muttered, "Understandable."

"I think it will be easier to remember when school starts again…"

"It's not been much more than a week, it's hardly surprising."

"Considering I dream about it so often I – " Draco stopped and rubbed his hands over his face. "It doesn't matter."

"I think it does," George told him deliberately. "No one loses their parents without it mattering, mate."

"Well, it isn't as if I've never spent Christmas at school… Does it make sense that I can miss her so much when I remember, and yet the rest of the time it feels like nothing has changed?"

Silently, George nodded his head.

"I do miss her, even if I never saw her during term-time. She may not have been particularly affectionate but when she was living in the real world she was such a wonderful woman. She was stunning, intelligent. They can keep their stupid newspapers with their obituaries and their speculation! They'll never know her anyway. And they can take stick their stupid headlines, too! She wasn't just another story for them to sell, she was _my mum_."

George took a breath and sat up straighter, resting a hand on his shoulder again and rubbing gently. "Someone's been bottling again…"

Draco rubbed at his face and shook his head, annoyed with himself for the slight waver in his voice. "What's the point in bringing it up?"

The older boy shrugged. "It's up to you, but I think you need to talk. It might help you come to terms with it a bit. It's never easy."

"Not tonight, George," Draco told him, quietly. He forced a smile, "I'll have enough to be miserable about being stuck in a room with Cross, Granger and your fat-headed little brother."

"So what are you wearing if you're not wearing that?" George asked, immediately changing the subject.

Draco grimaced and shrugged.

"Maybe you should borrow one of Harry's t-shirts or something," the red-head suggested, sprawling across the bed as Draco stood up. His flared, faded jeans trailed strands of cotton from frayed hems and were still damp from dragging in the snow. It made Draco want to tell him to get off his bed or dry his trousers, but he didn't. The other boy's coat seemed to have been discarded on the way in; he was still wearing his hand-knitted Gryffindor scarf and a t-shirt that may once have been blue and red, but was now a shade of washed-out lilac with cracked and peeling rose-coloured letters declaring the greatness of some eating establishment Draco didn't like the sound of at all.

Idly, the older boy drummed his hands against his stomach as Draco rifled through the trunk at the end of the bed. Draco did not dignify his suggestion with an answer; not the first time. When he repeated it, Draco threw a jumper into the other boy's face. Hard.

"Look, Snowflake," George said, pulling the jumper off his face and bundling it up against his tummy instead, "the thing is, you're going to stick out enough already. Dressing like you own most of the West Country is not going to do you any favours. Especially seeing as you do."

Draco stood up slowly and wrapped his arms around himself. George stared up at him pensively for a moment before rolling himself into a sitting position.

"Do you think I should go?"

"Yes."

"You don't expect a lynch mob?"

"You kidding?" George laughed. "The last thing everyone at the party saw of you was your sitting in the middle of the pitch all mangled and bloody after catching my 'fat-headed little brother' and basically saving his life. They'll be much more sympathetic, now."

"People in the Three Broomsticks – "

"Probably had no idea what happened."

"I do _want_ to go…"

"So go. You're going to be with me – and Harry – and I'm not being funny, but even if people think Harry's nuts half the time, they trust me and Fred."

"Of course they do, you're inner circle."

"Huh?"

"You're The Boy Who Lived's inner circle. Of course they respect you. They probably want to be you. Despite the hair."

There was a knock at the door, just then, and Fred walked in, trailing a red-haired girl with short tufts of bunches sticking out of the top of her head. Draco couldn't help but raise an eyebrow. She wasn't wearing any make-up, in particular, but looked as though she had failed to remove what she had been wearing the day before. Her jeans were frayed, like George's (and Fred's) and she had on what looked like a floral second-hand t-shirt she had stolen from a fashion-blind middle aged woman, and a black cardigan buttoned up incorrectly.

It took great restraint for Draco not to ask, "What've you come as?" but instead settled for, "You're right, George, she does look like you in drag."

George stuck out a leg and kicked him on the backside, causing Draco to give an indignant squawk and hit him back, on the shin.

"Aw, yeh poor thing," the girl said in a thick, Northern Irish accent, "Still, get enough drink down him and ah'm sure he'll kiss it all better, won't yeh, Georgie?"

"Fuck off."

"Now that's no way to talk to a lady," Fred told him, grinning and flinging and arm around the girl's neck roughly.

"That's no lady," George replied, climbing off the bed. "What're you doing here so early, anyway?"

"Plans have changed, haven't they? We're all meeting here since 'Harry's Two Dads' are off on their dirty weekend."

George looked surprised and shook his head, "No one told me."

Draco scowled and immediately walked to the door. Harry's bedroom door was wide open and his room empty. This was largely due to the fact that Harry was sitting at the bottom of the stairs, trapping his hand eagerly on his knee. Draco was just about to open his mouth and demand to know exactly what the other boy thought he was doing when a tuneful knock came from the front door and approximately three quarters of a nanosecond later, Harry had opened the front door and flung himself upon one of the two boys standing outside; who promptly fell backwards into the snow. The other stood precisely where he had been at the moment the door was opened and blinked a few times before allowing an eyebrow to arch slowly, and his gaze to turn to the slobbering, giggling bundle at his feet.

"Good God," he groaned. "Gentlemen, _please_."

On the ground, Harry grinned and pushed himself back on to his knees and shoved his fringe out of his face, and said, "Sorry, Simon, two-player game."

"Jes' get up, fer God's sakes, man!"

Gavin pushed himself into a sitting position and laughed, giving Harry a brief kiss on the lips, and helping him up before climbing on to his feet himself. Harry immediately grabbed the other boy's hand and led him inside, pushing past the four others now collected in the tiny hallway, and dragged him up the stairs, leaving the bewildered Scot in the garden.

"Are they...? Are they _always_ that bad?" he asked hesitantly.

Together, the three other boys nodded with resigned expressions. Gina was too busy staring up the stairs at the closed door, with completely brazen interest.

Behind the door, Harry was busily pinning Gavin against the woodwork and saying a very warm hello. Blushing awkwardly, the older boy grinned and said, "Missed me, then?"

"_God_, yes!" Harry told him sincerely, "I haven't been able to get rid of George all sodding holiday! He's here morning 'til night every day and those two lock themselves in Draco's room half the time…I never see anyone."

Gavin gave a small laugh and replied, "Well, I c'n keep you comp'ny fer a day or two, if y' want…"

"Good! It's been crap not even being able to write to you or anything…How are you, anyway?"

"Um…cold an' damp, now, really."

"Sorry…"

The Welsh boy laughed and clumsy tangled his fingers in Harry's hair. "No, you're not."

"I know, but it's the thought that counts…"

For a few moments they stood in silence, regarding each other slightly hesitantly. The last time they had been in such close proximity it had been not long after crawling out of bed. Naked. It was actually dimly embarrassing.

Gavin finally broke the silence by running his index finger over the bridge of Harry's nose and saying, "Where're y' glasses?"

"Broken… I've got new ones. And contact lenses," Harry explained with a shrug. He paused and pushed Gavin's hair out of his face artlessly, "Your hair's got really long…"

"' Know," Gavin replied, smiling bashfully, running his own hand through the sizeable portion that had fallen out of the short pony-tail at the nape of his neck. "D'you think I should cut it?"

Harry tilted his head and looked at it for a moment. "Dunno," he said finally. "It's your hair,"

"Well, I know, b' I dunno neither an' I thought you might…"

"As long as there's something to hold on to I don't mind," Harry told him, grinning and shrugging mischievously.

"When?!" Gavin demanded, with a look of shock that was probably only partly pretend.

Harry didn't respond, just laughed and wrapped him in a hug. "I've missed you so much," he said, closing his eyes and breathing in. It felt like he was re-orientating himself. It seemed stupid, because it had only been a couple of weeks, but still… he felt like he needed it. Just a moment to re-familiarise himself with the other boy. It wasn't as if he had any photos and the Ravenclaw t-shirt had more or less lost its scent. He'd have to make the other boy sleep in it or something.

Gavin gave a contented sigh and wrapped his arms around Harry tightly, murmuring, "You too…" He nuzzled down and kissed him… and instantly Harry returned it with twice the intent. A tug-of-war ensued as Harry tried to laughingly pull Gavin over to the bed and Gavin tried to pull in the other direction, reminding him that everyone else was downstairs and to remember what had happened last time. The older boy finally won out by picking Harry up and making him promise to behave. They stood in the middle of the bedroom for a minute, Harry's ankles locked behind Gavin's back, his arms around his neck and Gavin's arms trying to help support his weight.

Harry gave him another short kiss and declared, resolutely, "I love you."

The Welsh boy smiled wistfully and said, "Do you, now?"

Harry blinked at him a moment and said, very firmly, "Yes."

"Jus' checkin' you hadn' forgotten or nothin'…"

Laughing, Harry asked, "What do you mean, 'forget'? Of course I didn't."

"Well, y'know…outta sight, outta mind an' everythin'…"

Harry stopped laughing and looked at him. "Tell me that's a joke."

Gavin gave a chastised half-smile and nodded feebly.

"It wasn't, was it?"

"Well… sort of."

"Sort of?"

The older boy seemed to cling to him slightly tighter and confessed, "Well… it _was_… but… oh, y'know wha' I'm like…"

"Neurotic?"

"Oi!"

"You are, you're completely paranoid and neurotic."

Gavin didn't say anything, just allowed Harry to slide down and stand for himself, keeping him close.

"I know girls who are less insecure than you. Ugly girls who aren't captain of the house Quidditch team…"

The other boy sighed and mumbled, "Sorry…" unconsciously smoothing the creases from the back of Harry's t-shirt.

"If this is because of Draco, Gavin - "

"Harry," Gavin cut in firmly, eyebrows dipped in a half-frown, "don' talk t' me like I'm daft. I love you t' death, an' I'm afraid of losin' you, bu' I'm not stupid. All I' seen past weeks is stuff 'bout you an' Malfoy. All stuff 'bout you an' 'is dad an everythin'… I were worried sick somethin' 'ad 'appened t' you an' the only thing I knew was what were put in th' Prophet. I nearly 'ad Si write t' you, just in case… An' all this time all I could think were that maybe seein' 'im like tha' might make you _think_ or something'… An' I mean, 's not like I'd blame you, y' know tha'… I jus'…"

"I'm not going to break up with you for Draco," Harry told him flatly.

Gavin looked away guiltily.

"Do you really think I would?"

"Sometimes I c'n see why you migh'…"

Harry gave a slight laugh and said, "Do you fancy him or something?"

Gavin cast him a look that said a thousand words; most of them were '_Fuck_, _No_'.

"You'd better not do," Harry teased.

"I don't."

"Good, because you'd have to fight George for him."

The older boy stared at him. "George?"

"George's all over him but Drac's too stupid to see it. Or maybe he's pretending not to see it. I dunno…"

"So, I' missed a few things, then?"

"Just a bit. I don't know why George doesn't just get on with it and drag him into bed. It's obvious he wants to."

"Really."

"Yeah! And Draco thinks the Sun shines out of George's arse. Mind you, I reckon the Twins are half Slyth anyway. They'd probably be perfect for each other. Heh. Not."

"Well… maybe they would," Gavin offered, shrugging. "An' if it makes Draco feel _better_ - I mean, 'specially now, then - "

"It might _help_ Draco had at least picked someone decent."

"Tha's a nice way t' talk 'bout your frien's…"

Harry cast him a dark look.

"So I missed something' else, as well, then?"

"No shit, Sherlock."

Gavin opened his mouth to speak again, looking concerned, but was interrupted by a sharp rap at the door as it opened. Instinctively, and slightly abashed, they stepped away from each other and turned to see Hermione looking a little flushed and mildly suspicious. Her hair was mostly pulled back into two French plaits, although two crinkly strands hung down each side of her face, and she looked a bit like she might have make-up on.

"Hey, Hermione!" Harry said, grinning and going over to her, "How are you?"

"Fine," she said, flatly. "I hope you were behaving yourselves."

"Where's Ron?" Harry asked, carefully side-stepping her question.

"Downstairs. _Harry_, what has been going on? Your letter was just alarming - Ron and I have been going through every conceivable idea, but - "

"I think we'd best wait until everyone can hear. Come on - come downstairs," he pushed her to the door, nodding at Gavin to follow.

"Has your scar been hurting?"

"Nope."

"What about - "

"Herm, _stop_. You're panicking before you even really know what's going on. It's alright, honest."

Ron was standing in the living room, talking to the Twins, Gina and Simon. Draco sat in the armchair, studying the book the 'prophecy' had fallen from, and looking rather bitter.

"Alright?" Harry said, patting Ron on the shoulder.

Ron turned to look at him with an expression that suggested he was about to echo Hermione's torrent of concern, so Harry raised a finger and declared, "Scar: not hurting. Wormtail: not seen. Godparents: not here. You: no panic."

Ron hesitated for a moment, before grinning and saying, "Wicked. So where's this 'prophecy' thing, then?"

"Where's this _what_?" Simon asked, looking around in surprise.

"Er…" Ron turned red and cringed. "Sorry." Hermione gave him a death glare and back-handed him on the arm.

Gavin looked a bit awkward and glanced at his best friend before leaning down to whisper to Harry that he hadn't told Simon why, exactly, they were at the cottage, other than to meet the others.

"It's alright," Harry decided, shrugging and gesturing for everyone to find somewhere to sit. "We all know Simon. Simon, you don't have to stay, but being a Ravenclaw you might actually be able to help us with this…"

"Wi' what?" the other boy asked carefully.

"Shouldn't we start from the beginning or something?" George asked, sitting down on the arm of Draco's chair, much to his apparent displeasure.

Harry suppressed a smirk. "Probably better… Drac?"

Draco looked up at him without any trace of willing, before sighing heavily and droning, "You Know Who wants to attain immortality through stealing the Life source we all exist on. There is a smattering of loathsome juveniles in this school - and probably Durmstrang - intended for this purpose. There is also me.

"Father took me home for 'Christmas', tried to kill me, I stole some books for bicycle-face to see if anything could be found out, got rescued, killed my father and then we found this scrap of paper which appears to predict the downfall of the Dark Lord."

The others stared a him for a few moments.

"What? That's what happened, isn't it?" he scanned a few faces, briefly, before tutting and twirling his hand into a pall of flame and muttering, "Oh yes, and that. George, get up."

George, so taken by surprise at the proximity of the fire that he had started and fallen off the arm of the chair, scowled and him and heaved himself back on to his feet.

"Bloody show-off."

Immediately, Hermione held out her hand for the prophecy and said, "Let me see."

"No, push off," Draco retorted, folding it up and tucking it down the side of the armchair.

"Harry, how are we to learn from this if Malfoy won't show it to us?"

"Learn to say 'please' if you want me to give you something," Draco snapped, irritably.

George shook his head and snatched the piece of paper from the side of the chair, then handed it to her. "You'll have to excuse Snowflake, he got out of bed the wrong side this morning."

"Whose bed and how do you know?" Gina asked, immediately.

"Piss off."

Gavin, sitting on the hearth rug, tried to hide a grin behind his hand, but turned it into a cough when Harry glared at him.

Ron was still staring at the his brother and Draco with the sort of expression normally reserved those witnessing surgery. He seemed somewhat dazed when he raised a hand to point at them and said, "_What_?"

"'What' what?"

"Why - ? You…! I mean! _Why did you call him 'Snowflake'?_"

"Because that's what they call each other," Harry told him wearily, "Snowflake and Pumpkin. Sadcases."

"It's Pumpkin-_head_, actually."

"Except for all those times it's just 'Pumpkin', obviously."

"Shut up, Potter."

"But - but… _petnames_!"

"Nicknames. They are nicknames, fathead."

"BOYS DON'T CALL EACH OTHER SNOWFLAKE!"

"Those ones do."

"What's _your_ problem?" Gina demanded. "Yeh'r bes' friend's got blood pinker than a posy o' fuschias. Let 'em be."

Draco looked alarmed, "He's not my -"

"Drac, _Snowflake,_" George interrupted, solemnly, "You know it's true, I know it's true - let the peons have their fun. We'll just draw on their faces in indelible ink when they pass out drunk."

"Really," Ron said, still looking rather alarmed, "Am I the only person in this school who's really straight?"

"Oh, no, _no_," Simon assured him, and apparently glad to have a heterosexual ally himself, "No, really yeh're not."

"Me either," Fred said, grinning, "Or Gina."

Ron looked expectantly at Hermione who merely smoothed down her red tartan pinafore and said, "I choose not to label myself according to social stereotypes."

Ron started to look like he might faint.

There was an awkward pause, before Simon tactfully cleared his throat and suggested, in his thick Glaswegian tones, that they take a look at the prophecy sooner rather than later, because he wasn't sure how to explain to Annabel where he had been without drawing his own sexuality into question.

Hermione unfolded the piece of parchment and spread it out flat on the coffee table; one by one, the others made their way nearer and pored over it. The page was yellowing and slightly battered, the lower portion ripped away where the page had been folded in half. In a neat, but somehow urgent-looking hand, someone had written out a poem, virtually in iambic pentameter.

When Emerald Earth and smoke-grey Fire

With flamed Air and Rain conspire

So then shall the Power be raised

To end the Terror of the Second Phase.

Encompass'd by the single mass

And borne unto divided class

A dozen plus their sum hence squar'd

Shall unite to destroy a blacken'd heir.

They knelt in silence for a few minutes, each reading and re-reading the piece; except for Draco, who had read through it so many times, looking for answers, it was etched very firmly into his mind.

"So," Ron said eventually, "what do you reckon it means?"

"It means the Kidderminster Kestrels are going to win the Cup, obviously," Draco muttered acerbically.

Hermione ignored him and concluded, "It's obviously a prophecy stating that You Know Who will need to be defeated by a group of people, not just one."

"Not just 'Arry," Gavin said quietly, slipping his fingers through the other boy's.

Harry squeezed his hand absently and offered, "Do you think it's the elements?"

"Earth, Fire, Air and Rain… I suppose that's water. Whoever wrote this wasn't very good at it," Hermione mused.

"Didn't think - "

" - you believed in Divination - "

" - anyway."

"I think 'Ermione's righ'…" Gavin said thoughtfully, prodding at the first two lines, "It's talkin' 'bout Elements or Elementals and - "

"Yes, yes, we know that," Draco cut in dismissively, pulling the paper towards him. "But the question is who and how and what the hell has rain got to do with defeating the Dark Lord? What are we supposed to do? Drizzle him to death?"

Gavin looked like he wanted to say something else, but shrugged resignedly and seemed to sink further down on to his heels. Simon stared at him.

"Well we all know what you are," George told the blond boy beside him.

"An arse bandit?" Ron suggested from behind his fist, which he was propping his chin on. He then seemed to realise he'd said it out loud and turned red.

"Oh _please_, Weasley. Get your tiny, bigoted mind out of the gutter."

"_Fire_."

"Where? Quick! Evacuate!"

"Funny."

Harry shrugged and grinned, "I thought so."

"What's this 'dozen plus their sum hence squared' bit? What does that mean?" Ron asked. "'Mione, you do Arithmancy -"

"It's four," Simon declared nonchalantly.

"What?"

"Four."

Hermione stared at him in astonishment, "How can you possibly - ?"

"Four. Trust me."

"Let me see!" she grabbed the paper out of Draco's hand and stared at it, her eyes wide and slightly manic. "I don't see how you can have _possibly_ worked it out so quickly, it really is - "

"Granger," Simon said slowly, "It's four. Honestly."

"How? How can you be so sure?"

"Because it is."

"But - !"

"Elements: four. A dozen plus four equals sixteen: square root equals four. Four equals number of Elements. Therefore, the answer is - "

"Let us guess - "

" - Three million - "

"- seven hundred - "

" - and six thousand - "

" - nine hundred - "

" - aaaaand two."

Simon slapped his hand down on the table and said, "Spot on! How _do_ you guys manage it?"

Hermione put down the piece of paper as if it were about to self-destruct at any moment and said, "Well, I suppose you _could_ be right."

Wood regarded her as if she may spontaneously combust herself, before muttering, "Ooookay."

"So we know there are four of us… er, _them_," Harry said, scrunching his hand in his fringe. "Who are they? How can we tell?"

"I've told you already," George sighed, "Snowflake's fire. How many people do you bloody know who can do what he does?"

Several pairs of eyes fixed themselves upon him with intrigue.

"Oh, you lot are obsessed!"

"Well," Hermione said, stiffly, "Just because he's pyroclastic - "

"'Smoke-grey fire'. Doesn't that ring any bells for anyone?" George demanded in exasperation.

Harry stared at him with narrowed eyes for a moment. "Yes, it does," he said, "Draco's eyes are grey."

Gavin cast them both side-long looks and chewed the side of his lip.

"You seem to be paying rather a lot of attention to details, George…"

"Look who's talking," the older boy returned, raising an eyebrow. The others seemed to take a collective breath before Hermione, Fred and Simon all tried to change the subject at the same time.

"Emerald Earth must be - "

"What's this 'class' stuff?"

"Where's your bathroom?"

Harry and George continued to glower at each other for a moment before Harry muttered, "Top of the stairs, second door on the left," and turned to cuddle up to Gavin.

"I think if we're talking about eyes, 'Emerald Earth' must be our Boy Who Lived to Be A Moody Arse," Gina said, leaning on the low table with both elbows and smirking.

"Don't hold back, will you? Say what's on your mind," Harry replied coldly.

"Nah," she said, her smirk turning into a wicked grin, "I'm far too polite fer that. But I do think you need to stop being such a miserable arse and stop leeching other people's happiness."

Fred slung an arm around her shoulders proudly. For a moment, George looked like he may just be suppressing a grin as well.

"So what we're _saying_," Ron said, thoughtfully, "Is that we have four people who are sort of Elements."

"More or less, Ron, yes," Hermione nodded briskly, taking up the page again and staring at it.

"Well, I mean, we did astrology - what if it's not like, _proper_ Elements, but sort of - "

"Qualities?" Gavin finished, looking up and starting to frown pensively.

"Yeah, qualities. What if it's like, Harry's all - "

"Woman?" Draco suggested drily.

"Ha! Pot, kettle, _Snowflake_."

"Well… I dunno. But what if it's Elements like they have in astrology?"

"Passionate Fire, emotional water, all that?" George asked, tilting his head a bit.

"I mean, it's only an idea…"

"Well," George shrugged, scratching his face, "it's a good theory, I s'pose but it doesn't explain the smoke-grey bit? I'm convinced that's Princess, here…"

"Weasley, I've warned you…"

"Yeah, yeah, and I live in fear of being bitch-slapped to death."

"Does perpetually undermining my masculinity make you feel good about yourself? Does it?"

"It would if you had any to undermine."

"Just for once," Fred said, smirking, "_Save it_. It's five-star entertainment and everything, but there's a party and booze waiting for me in town and I'm not planning on wasting it."

Hermione scowled. "You aren't going anywhere until we're satisfied we've worked it out thoroughly. You're involved and now you're going to have to go the distance, just like the rest of us."

"Funny how you're so eager to liberate House Elves who _want_ to be enslaved, and then turn into a complete slave driver yourself…"

George sniggered wickedly and patted Ron on the shoulder. Ron looked at him in mild alarm, as if the action drove something rather disconcerting home.

"Boys, really! You're acting like children. We have other things to consider. 'Single mass' - I think that must be the school… 'divided class'…divided class?"

"Well it's either classes or social groups…"

"Or both," Gavin said. "No offence, bu' if they _are_ talkin' 'bout Draco, I think it's safe t' say 'e's in a differen' social class… Certainly t' me, anyway."

"And us," George agreed, glancing at the blond boy and nodding.

"An' wha' if th' class also meant school? Gryffindor an' Slytherin, an' ev'rythin'…"

They contemplated this for a several moments, glancing across at each other, trying to attain some kind of confirmation of what everyone else thought.

"Four people, then," Harry summarised, slowly, "with some connection to the Elements; possibly Draco, probably me - although I can't think of anything I can do that's all that Earthy, Windy or Watery…Ron, don't even think it. Probably from different houses - so, I suppose that could mean we're looking for a Ravenclaw and a Hufflepuff - "

"_Hufflepuff?_ What use is a _Hufflepuff_?" Draco demanded indignantly.

"They're Earthy, shut up. So… I think people need to keep their eyes out for Hufflepuffs who seem like they might be one of us."

"One of what?"

"_Us._"

"Big raving queens?"

"If that was the case I'd've said 'QUICK, GET ME FINCH-FLETCHLEY!' wouldn't I?"

"True."

Harry stopped and gave a heavy sigh, scratching at his fringe, idly. "I suppose we'd better leave for the party soon, anyway… Simon, Gina - I don't really expect you to do much - not unless you want to - you either, really, Gav - " Gavin cast him a resignedly offended look, but said nothing. "The rest of you… Herm, can you look into the Elemental side for us?"

"Haven't we done enough research into that ourselves?" Draco asked. "We spent months on it!"

"Yeah, well, it's a start. Ron and I are going to scout around and see if we can work out who else it is we need…" Harry's speech faded out and he scrutinised his boyfriend for a moment, murmuring, "Ravenclaw… blue… water… rain… Wales…? Heh…as if…" before continuing, "Draco, you're going to look into this prophecy and where it came from. You can't get home, yet, obviously, but find out what you can."

"What about - "

"- us?"

"I dunno, yet… there's bound to be something… there usually is, one way or another…So. I think that's it, isn't it?"

"I should bloody hope so!"

"Taking all that time - "

" - waffling on - "

" - when there's beer to be had!"

"And ladies," Simon said, grinning as he stood up. He chuckled at the grimaces on several of the faces around him. "Shame I'm nae single… all the more fer me, seein' as how all you eligible bachelors are so loved up together…"

"In yer dreams," Gavin said, laughing.

"Ach, no… I've not been talkin' in m' sleep again?"

"Talking of bringing your sexuality into question…!"

"T' be fair, I don't think mine's ever been questioned _ever_. I win."

The look the Twins exchanged was enough to drive fear into anyone.

"We'll see - "

" - about that," they said. And the laugh was even more alarming.


	17. Chapter XIV:ii So See the Survivor in C...

**Please note that this is a two-part chapter. If you have followed a link directly to this page, please select part one and read that first.**

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**Chapter XIV: Part Two**

**So See the Survivor in Control **

_"You won't know how well you've played until you've won…" Embrace _

It was an odd party who left the cottage at quarter past seven on New Year's eve. It was already dark and the near-full moon had risen. It had snowed earlier in the day, but for now the air was clear and their breath sailed away in wisps.

Six Gryffindors, two Ravenclaws and a Slytherin setting off for a night out together was not exactly a common occurrence at Hogwarts. Harry and Gavin led the way, playfully scattering the powdery upper layer of snow and kicking it at each other before giggling and falling into a sideways hug as they carried on. Behind them, Ron dutifully had his own arm around Hermione, and Fred, Gina and Simon dawdled after them. A few dozen yards behind them, George finished locking up the cottage while Draco, who had actually been assigned the task, waited nearby, levitating a crate of Hobgoblin Ale.

Fred turned back to glance over his shoulder and gave a little knowing smirk as he saw his brother take the blond boy's free hand and pull his glove on for him, so that he didn't have to put down the crate. It was a pity he wasn't the only one who noticed. Ahead of them, Harry had turned around to see where everyone was and obviously witnessed the action.

"Oh _look_," he called out, "Likkle Pumpkin can't keep his hands off his delicate likkle Snowflake for one minute, _bless_."

Fred had had enough, and without pause to think about it he snapped, "Maybe you should pay more attention to your own boyfriend instead of someone else's, Harry."

"Well," Harry replied, "you see the thing with _that_ is that neither of them have the decency to admit it."

"You know what? Maybe if you left them alone for ten minutes they'd find the time to work it out for themselves. I'm sure you can't help being jealous, but it's about time you got your priorities straight, don't you reckon?"

Gavin, still standing a few feet behind Harry seemed to deflate a little at the words, pushed his hand through his hair and wandered a little further away.

Harry glared at Fred for a moment, before reaching out to grasp at Gavin's hand defiantly, only to realise he wasn't there. He whirled around in surprise, the others watching in uncomfortable silence, until he laid eyes on the older boy, walking off into the dark. He hesitated, glancing over he shoulder for an instant, and then sprinted after him.

"Gav! _Gavin_ - wait up…"

Gavin stopped and sighed, reluctantly turning to face him.

"Where are you off to?" Harry asked as lightly as he could, even though he could feel his stomach contorting with the real reason. It felt worse when the older boy cast him a reproachful look and turned away; "_Gavin_!"

"Wha' d'you wan' me t' say?" the older boy shrugged tiredly. "Get on wi' it, don't mind me. I'm only the boyfrien' Weasley's referrin' to an' ev'rythin…"

"Oh come _on_. You don't actually take him seriously, do you?"

"See, if it were jus' Fred, then no, I prob'ly wouldn'. Bu' s' not, is it? S'ev'ryone an' it's written all over y' face."

"What?"

"How much fun d'you think I'm 'avin' watchin' that, eh? 'Cause it's not exac'ly a barrel a' laughs, 'Arry."

"Gavin, don't…"

"Don' what?" he asked helplessly, "Admit I c'n see it? Point it out? Tell you s' not okay? It's New-bloody-Year! I' not seen you since before Chris'mas an' I come back t' _this._"

"Nothing's happened!"

"No, obviously not, b' I don' think it's 'cause you're no' interested. I think it's 'cause Draco ain't!"

The silence spread between them for several seconds, and the others, barely a huddle of silhouettes across the lawn, started to move away and head for the gates.

For Harry, he felt like his heart had crawled up into his throat and was throbbing there and making his eyes prickle. "You don't trust me…"

"I _did_," Gavin replied miserably - softly, as if speaking about it would jinx everything. "An' I wan' t' trust you, but… It's as if you don' even _think_ 'bout my feelin's. Like you c'n jus' say anything' you want an' I can' let myself care 'cause you'll treat me like I'm stupid if I do…"

"I - "

"It's as if you don' realise how _cruel_ you are. No' jus' t'me, but t' your own _frien's_…"

"I'm sorry," Harry said pathetically, reaching out to him and trying to pull him nearer. "I don't meant to… and you - well, you've got it all wrong… Draco's my friend and I'm used to having his attention and I suppose I quite like that, but then someone who's meant to be my own friend comes along and takes up all his attention instead, when I could have done with it the most and… It worries me that Draco's in this fragile state because his parents are dead and everything and I mean - we're not talking about someone sweet and decent like you - we're talking _George Weasley_! It's like throwing a baby seal to a killer whale."

Gavin looked at him and shook his head, "_Mean_.Again, see? Being _mean_ 'bout people y're meant t' be close to? Didn' you tell me once the Weasleys were your fam'ly?

Awkwardly, Harry nodded, "They are."

"An' so essentially, y're being really mean an' 'urtful t' someone you view as your own brother?"

"But only because I'm looking out for my friend! He doesn't know what he's getting himself into!"

"Oh don' be stupid!" Gavin said in exasperation, but pulled Harry close to him, wrapping his arms around him so that Harry had to tilt his head right back to look at him. "What y're doin' is well intended idiocy. You've gotta let Draco work things out fer 'imself for a start. An' what if you're wrong, anyway? What if George worships th' groun' 'e walks on? You wanna spoil tha', do you?"

"Well… I s'pose not - but - "

"_'Arry_: Shh. Listen, I don' wanna spoil New Year. Y're daft in th' head, sometimes, but I 'ate fightin' wi' you," he leaned down and kissed him on the lips, which Harry received gratefully, and continued, "Bu' if you keep actin' like this…"

There was an ominous pause.

"What?"

Gavin grimaced slightly and said, "Jus' don' disappoin' me, eh?" with a sort of fearful, hopeful inflection.

Harry squeezed him tight and buried his face in the other boy's chest in shame; "Please don't dump me…"

Sighing and stroking Harry's hair, Gavin murmured, "I'm no' goin' t' dump you…"

"You're the one really grounding thing I have in this world and I love you and…I love you. I really, really love you. I'm sorry, Gavin, I am - I'm an idiot. Promise you won't…" And he meant it. Deep down he could feel it - the desperate anxiety at the prospect of losing the one person who stuck by him relentlessly, without the duty of obligation. The one person who ever treated him like he was normal and just genuinely seemed to care about him.

The older boy didn't even hesitate before saying, "Promise, bu' only if you stop bein' so 'orrible."

"I promise. I promise - and if I'm horrible tell me off. I don't mean to be… I just worry about my friends, that's all."

"'S 'cause you' got a messiah complex, love," Gavin laughed softly and kissed his hair, "Sooner you realise you can' 'elp ev'ryone, the better for ev'rybody else."

Across the lawn, still levitating the crate of beer to trail along wrapped in Harry's invisibility cloak, Draco was finding it impossible to drag his eyes away from the barely-visible scene.

"C'mon, Snowflake," George said, reaching out and wrapping a supportive arm across his shoulders, "stop thinking about that. We're going to have a good time tonight, if it kills us."

Draco raised an eyebrow at him, "Given your day-to-day antics, I don't entirely doubt that it will," he replied, and briefly leaned his head against George's shoulder before putting a respectable distance between them again. From the corner of his eye, he thought he saw George look at him and smile a little before looking away.

A moment later, a figure not much taller than him appeared by his side and said, warmly, "Hello, Draco."

"Hello," he replied, as neutrally as he could and forcing himself to remember that she had been one of the group who had helped keep him alive.

This faded somewhat as she asked, sounding like she was speaking to a victim of galloping consumption, "How are you feeling?"

"Perfectly indescribable, thank you."

George gave him a side-long smirk.

"How was Christmas? It can't have been easy after everything that happened… Harry wrote to us and told us about it."

"Well, I'm sure my side of the story is entirely superfluous, then," he replied with a set smile.

"Snowflake," George began warningly, picking his free arm up and slapping the wrist, "play nice."

Draco turned and gazed at him for a moment, about to demand to know who, precisely, George thought he was; but the mischievous glint in the older boy's eye pacified him to the point of giving him an amused look and saying, "I do apologise, _Hermione_, I have not had the most pleasant of times, recently."

The girl regarded them with suspicion for a moment and said, "No, it would appear not."

George elbowed him lightly, so he continued, "Did you have a pleasant Yu - _Christmas_. You Muggles don't celebrate Yule, do you?"

Granger gave him a look that suggested she wanted to scalp him. "No," she said stiffly, "we 'Muggles' tend to celebrate the modern festival. Although mother and I did make some low-sugar cakes and pies from recipes we found at the library."

"You actually went to the library on your school holidays?" Draco asked flatly.

"Of course! There's really far too little on our matters in the public domain, you know. It's terribly sad. Perhaps if Muggles had access to our idea and our methods - "

"They would use them against us," Draco finished stonily.

There was a sharp silence; the very brink of an argument. Hermione's lips were thin and very pale - she was evidently desperate to debate the point.

"That is the one thing I learned from my father that I actually believe: there can be no peace where suspicion remains. If we made our world known to them, tried to compromise, we would just give away our knowledge to people who would eventually turn it on us. We would have no defence, then. You see how they decimate each other for scrappy pieces of land… The Muggle nation that had us on their side would be both a target and an aggressor; some would want the power, some would fight to protect the power and others would just abuse it. Trust me, I'm a Slytherin."

"Oooh," George said, leaning an arm on his shoulder, "now how could we possibly justify trusting you?"

Draco set his expression, lest he should give away the pang he felt in his chest, "I think I've proved myself already, don't you?"

George gave a slight flinch, and moved the arm to slip around his shoulders and give him a brief squeeze, before letting it fall away. "'Course," he said, nodding. "Of course…"

Draco continued to stare straight ahead of him.

Hermione looked at them for a moment, before uncomfortably saying, "I'm truly sorry for what happened, Draco. It must be awful for you… I shouldn't think that anyone really doubts you, now. Even Ron."

"Well, you'd know."

"He's very rash and he's very stubborn, but he's good-hearted. Ron doesn't mean nearly half of the things he says… He just doesn't take the time to think before he speaks. Then, I suppose that's what being a Gryffindor is about, isn't it? Harry is just the same."

Draco gave her a half-glance and flickered an eyebrow slightly in response.

"I know Harry is dreadfully insensitive, but I'm sure he'll get used to the idea…"

"The idea of what?"

"Well…" she looked at them both and opened her mouth to elaborate, before closing it and looking away.

Draco turned to George who was gazing off in the other direction, giving every appearance of not listening.

"If you're suggesting - "

"It wouldn't _matter_, Draco. He may seem terribly annoyed, but Harry isn't quite like anyone else - "

"Well that's that understatement of the week," George muttered darkly.

"Granger, Harry's opinion is irrelevant. And for your information, George and I are nothing more than good friends."

"Don't let Harry get in your way. He didn't let you hinder his and Gavin's relationship, did he?"

"You are over-stepping your mark," Draco replied coldly. He glanced at George, hoping for some support, but the older boy was not paying attention, gazing instead at the snow as they waded through it, both hands stuffed into his pockets.

Hermione looked at Draco for a moment, before glancing and George. She opened her mouth to say something again, but instead glanced back at the seventh year, and quickened her pace to catch up with Ron.

"How dare she?" Draco fumed, scowling after her. "Who the hell does she think she is?"

"She thinks she's someone who knows Harry. And she's right."

"About what?"

"You didn't stop him and Gavin living it up in their soppy little world, did you?"

"It's hardly her business."

"No, but she's trying to be kind."

"Well she has no business being kind."

"Oh, shut up, Snowflake. You're being as much of an arse as he is."

Draco gave a reluctant huff and murmured an apology. He always felt a little afraid of pushing the older boy away. The last thing he wanted was to displease him sufficiently for him to decided he didn't want to spend time with him any more. He'd be lonely without him. As kind as Black and Lupin were being to him, it was just charity. Harry was a moron Draco was rapidly growing sick of the sight of, the stroppy sod. But George liked him; made the effort to spend time with him and seemed to enjoy it. Draco actually felt a little pathetic for relying on him so much.

Up ahead, Hermione joined the merry band of straight people and was almost immediately accosted by Ron demanding, "Well, what do you reckon?"

She paused thoughtfully for a moment, before saying, "Well, you remember that time you went to Egypt…?"

Harry and Gavin, meanwhile, followed behind at a comfortable distance, easily out of ear-shot if they spoke quietly. The older boy had his arm around Harry's shoulders, and Harry an arm around Gavin's waist. It had only really occurred to them as they watched the others together that they would have to spend the evening mostly apart if they wanted to keep their relationship a secret. It marred things a little because it would have been nice to spend the evening as they had done in Wales, with Gavin's friends. There had been no need to pretend, then, because once one had been told the news seemed to spread like wild fire.

Harry remembered what had happened to Hermione when the papers had printed those ridiculous stories about her. It was the last thing he wanted to subject Gavin to, never mind himself. Being the media's darling was bad enough, being its punch bag was much worse. Besides, he didn't want everyone knowing his business. He had been naïve, early on. He had wanted to convince himself that he was normal be happy and average and be seen in public and face no repercussions. It was fortunate that Gavin had more sense than he did. He couldn't bear the thought of making him a target.

Harry smiled softly and leaned his face in towards the other boy, pressing his cheek against his chest and taking a deep breath. It felt so safe, being with Gavin. Despite the fact that Gavin was a soppy git who wouldn't hurt a fly. He was certainly capable of it; the boy was keeper of the Ravenclaw team, for goodness sake! He was six feet tall and thirteen stone! He could probably knock most people's heads off, but he wouldn't because he didn't like hurting people. Harry sometimes suspected this was because of Jack… With a brother capable of such aggressive behaviour - and having seen the anxiety it must have caused their parents - Harry didn't think he'd want to risk it, either.

Gavin's grip around his shoulders tightened slightly and they came to a stop.

"Here," Harry said, pulling him round to face him, "might as well make the most of the last chance we're going to have…" and he reached up to kiss him. Gavin willingly obliged. They stood for a minute, hugging each other tightly.

"We don' 'ave t' stay apart all nigh' do we?" Gavin asked a touch regretfully. "I mean, 's not that I don' think I can live wi'out you or nothin' - " he gave a little chuckle and gave him another little kiss " - bu' s' been ages since we' been together an' I 'ave t' go back again tomorrow…"

"I know," Harry sighed, shrugging. "We can get away with hanging out together a bit, surely? I mean, it isn't as if people don't know we're 'friends', is it?"

"No… s' true."

"So, a bit, I suppose… we just have to be careful we don't do anything stupid without thinking…"

"O'viously Mr Rash Gryffindor."

"Shut up!" Harry laughed.

Gavin pinched at his ribs and teased, "Bein' mean again…"

Harry gave such a squawk that the others stopped and turned to see what was happening, and playfully slapped at Gavin's hands.

"Bastard."

"Oh, tha's nice!"

"You know I'm ticklish!"

"Well, yes, y' nearly broke my nose once, 'member?"

"That was your own fault…"

"Only 'cause you never warned me!"

"Fair point…I _suppose_."

"An' 'Arry?"

"Yes, dearest darling?"

"Wash y' mouth out."

"Why, we haven't even done anything yet!"

"Oh, you're _foul, _you are!" the older boy said, trying to sound serious and not quite managing it."Your godfather's gonna go mad if 'e 'ears you talkin' like tha'…"

"Who, Sirius?!"

"No… Lupin."

Harry gave a dark chuckle, "Nah, it's alright, he's normally too busy telling Sirius off for swearing in front of me to bother about what I'm actually saying…Heh - let alone doing!"

"Well…" Gavin said dubiously, "I 'ope so… Got 'orrible feelin' I'll be squid food t'morrow, otherwise…"

"Well, in that case maybe we should skip the party altogether, go home and make the most of your last few hours, then."

"Is there a word f' male nymphomaniacs? 'Cause I think you're it."

"Only because of you."

"Rubbish!"

"OI! YOU TWO COMING OR NOT?"

"DON'T YOU DARE ANSWER THAT, POTTER, OR I'M GOING TO THROW UP!"

"Yeah, sick with envy, probably…"

"'Arry!" Gavin took his wrist and slapped it. It probably wouldn't have hurt any more if he hadn't had gloves on at the time.

"No, I'm sorry, he asked for that."

"T' be fair… I agree, but still. Behave."

"Well I tell you one thing, I'd better be well-rewarded."

By the time they were making their way towards the Hughes household's front gate, Draco was feeling deeply uncomfortable. He had dressed down, as George suggested, and was wearing his oldest pair of jeans (which were barely a year old anyway) and a plain black sweater that he had been forced to watch in horror as George and proceeded to 'rough up' and stretch in various places before handing it back to him and forcing him to put it on over the only plain white t-shirt he owned. He felt marginally like a tramp. And feeling like a tramp when you need to feel your most confident in a building full of people who very possibly hate you, is not particularly conducive to optimism. He almost wanted to run away when Fred reached out to ring the bell, and must have looked fitfully around him because George gave his hand a quick squeeze and offered him a reassuring wink. It helped, a little. At least he wasn't alone.

A familiar-looking Ravenclaw wearing square glasses and a grey-blue tank top over a striped shirt opened the door, grinning.

"Ah! The Gryff party!" he said brightly, "Come in, make yourselves at home! Drink in the kitchen, bathrooms on the other side of the utility room and on the right at the top of the stairs; bag and coats can go in the utility as well and I would be much obliged if you could keep smoking to the patio, which is heated for you comfort, ayethankyew." He beamed and bowed, a mess of large fair curls bouncing merrily.

"He's one of _your_ friends, then," Draco whispered to George, who made a strange rasping snort as he tried to suppress a giggle.

"He's like Perce with a sense of humour…" he whispered back.

The others filed in to the hallway smiling and saying hello as they started to unwrap scarves and un button coats. Draco resolved to keep his chin up and not allow himself to show how uncomfortable he felt. He had as much right to be there as anyone else.

Oscar gave him an odd look as he walked in; it wasn't hostile at all, but perhaps curiously surprised to see him there. The Ravenclaw glanced over at Ron and then gave an amicable grin, holding out his hand to shake.

"Malfoy. Pleasure to have you with us, my friend. Pleasure. If anyone plans on falling off the back veranda I'll get them to give you a heads-up first, shall I?"

Taken rather aback by the reception, Draco did little other than shake the proffered hand shortly and say, "Provided it's not Millicent Bulstrode."

Oscar gave a gasp of delighted scandal and said muttered, "Brilliant! Fantastic! This way ladies and gentlemen, please," ushering them into the living room, "this way please…"

The living room was already quite busy. It was large enough for three sofas and a scattering of large bean bags, and opened out into the conservatory. About twenty people lounged around, chatting and laughing while some fashionable Muggle music played in the back ground. This all ceased almost instantaneously as Draco walked in, and he could feel their eyes on him like a particularly heavy overcoat.

There was almost enough time for an uncomfortable silence to fall before their host bounded in front of them and announced, "Ladies and Gentlemen, guys and dolls, can we have a little round of applause for our resident hero, please? No, no, Potter, not you - haha!" He dragged Draco out from where he was desperately trying to hide behind George, growing more and more mortified by the second, and continued, "Mr Draco Malfoy, people. Well, come on! This guy saved a man's life, you miserable bastards!"

There was another uncomfortable pause before a Hufflepuff from over in the corner got up and walked over, handing his drink to someone on the way. Draco half expected a smack in the mouth, and was deeply relieved when instead he took his hand and clapped him heavily on the shoulder and said, "Nice one, Malfoy. Can I get you a drink?"

Following his obvious and deliberate lead, someone else called "Well done, mate," and a few sparse claps were offered, and slowly the mood in the room returned to what it had been before, more or less. But now everyone was talking about more or less the same thing.

"Hm," Oscar muttered with obvious surprise, "They didn't exactly run with that, did they?"

The temptation to snap "No shit?" was great, but Draco suppressed it, for fear of losing the one genuine ally he appeared to have outside of their own party.

"Where do you want us to put the booze, Osc, old chum?" George asked, having plucked the crate out of mid-air at the door and lugged it into the living room himself, leaving Harry to deal with his cloak.

"Oh, you can stick that in the fridge or somewhere. I'd hide it, though, it'll be gone before nine, otherwise. You could even stick it in the larder, actually…Follow me."

He led the way into the kitchen and Draco was the first to follow, glad to be away from the heavy atmosphere of the living room. He cast George an uncomfortable look, and received a wink of "Don't worry" in return. It did nothing to reassure him of a spontaneous about-face and sudden wave of people falling on their knees to worship him, but it reminded him that he had a true friend amid the hoards; that helped.

In the hallway, Harry, Ron and Hermione had off-loaded their coats to Gavin and Simon, who obligingly went to stash them in the utility and find drinks, and made themselves comfortable away from the crowd in the living room. The night was still young and if they didn't catch up _sooner_ there would be far too many people around _later _to have a proper conversation anyway.

"So, then her dad goes, 'Glad to know you're okay, Ron' and I just totally thought he said 'Glad to know you're gay' which I seemed a bit weird, and everything, and said, 'Oh - no… that's Harry.'"

"You git!"

"Well, I just thought she'd told him about you! How was I to bloody know he'd said 'okay'? Never occurred to me that if she'd said that to them it might be so they didn't go mad about me staying. I was nervous enough as it was!"

Hermione, sitting on the stair below Ron while Harry leaned against the foot of the banisters, patted his knee and sighed, "And it all went down-hill from there, really. I'm not sure I'll ever look at a can of whipped cream quite the same again…"

"Look, that bloody cat was going to go for me! It was the only defence I had!"

"Well, I must say I've never seen any cat look quite so shocked in my life before… It was rather funny. I wish we had had a camera to hand…"

"So you covered her pussy in squirty white stuff in front of her parents?" Harry chuckled, expertly dodging a horrified slap from Hermione, "You had a good time, then? Got through it relatively unscathed…"

"Hardly!"

"Well, there was an incident involving a mince pie puppet and a cocktail sausage."

"I didn't know they were there! We thought they'd turned in for the night!"

"I think poor Daddy almost suffered heart failure."

"I'm never going to look at a mince pie without cringing again, am I?"

"I tell you what," Harry replied, grimacing, "I'm never going to look at a mince pie again!"

"Yeah…I like mince pies an' all… Whatever you do, though, please, _please_ don't mention it to the Twins. I'll wake up with a load of them shoved down my pyjamas or something…"

Tucked around the corner, out of sight, Fred and Gina gave each other wickedly triumphant looks and went to find the food.

"How was your Christmas, Harry? Your letters were rather hurried… I could hardly read parts of it. That'll count against you in exams, you know. If they can't read your answers they might not give you all your marks."

"Yeah, I know… I was just in a rush to get everything out and get you two up here," he shrugged, hoping to avoid a lecture. "If I'm honest, things have been really… messed up. I went down to -" he leaned back and looked around to check that no one was listening "- _Gavin's_ so early on that it felt like I had the whole holiday with nothing to do. Drac wasn't even around then, was he? But I came back and suddenly George is at the Shack all the time, Fred's got Gina Coleraine on his arm and the only people I've got to talk to are Sirius and Moony. Who, by the way, are on a dirty weekend away together."

The other two gave him matching looks of astonishment for entirely different reasons.

"What," Ron spluttered, "You mean… _Sirius_ and - and _Lupin_?!"

"Yep."

"Are you trying to tell me you didn't know?" Hermione asked with a pitying inflection to her voice. "_Really_. You ought to pay attention once in a while…"

"Oh, come _on_, Mione! Sirius Black? The man used to have a _motorbike_!"

"Oh, I'm sorry - I wasn't aware that that was a viable measurement of heterosexuality Ron. Apparently I should be going out with Bill or Charlie and you should be seeing _him, _instead." She gestured to Harry with an exasperated eye roll. "I really would have thought, after all you've seen this year - "

"What?! Shut up! I'm straight! Harry's not my type anyway! He's a rubbish ki- er… He's my best mate! That's disgusting! And if you ever suggest that again, I'm dumping you."

"I bet he's a better kisser that you are. And I don't even want to _imagine_ how you think you know that."

Ron muttered darkly something that sounded like, "I _imagine_ he's had more practise…"

"Oh yes," Hermione said, regarding Harry with appraising suspicion and folding her hands neatly in her lap, "I'm sure you have some updating to do as well, Harry…"

Harry immediately felt himself turn red. "Like what?"

"How was you trip to Wales?"

"Er…"

"She's asking if you shagged him."

"Ron! Shh! If someone finds out about us - !"

"Whatever…"

"Think of Rita Skeeter! All I need is for someone to find out and there'll be headlines like, 'Boy Who Lived Takes It Up Arse From Teenage Quidditch Stud' or - "

He nearly jumped out of his skin as a small cough announced a paper cup of butterbeer and he turned to see a drily amused Simon Wood on the other end of it.

"Yeh know, if yeh carry on like that, I'd say people finding out is a fairly reasonable assumption."

Behind him, an exceedingly red-faced Gavin slid down the wall to sit on the floor in apparently insurmountable mortification. Ron just looked like he might faint.

"Ahem. If yeh'll all excuse me, I have a nice, normal girlfriend to go and see. Weasley - your drink." The Scot handed Ron the paper cup and turned to leave, stepping over his best friend and muttering, "Pull yerself t'gether, man."

Guiltily, Harry walked over and crouched beside the other boy, "You alright?" he asked, stroking his hair. Gavin nodded and swallowed, before offering a slightly mischievous smile that Harry read less like a book than a billboard poster, and replied, "Easy, girls present."

"Never mind her," Ron protested, "_I'm_ present!"

Harry stood up and held out a hand to help the older boy to his feet. "Time to part ways for a bit?" he asked reluctantly.

"S'pose so," Gavin nodded. "Not too long, though?"

"Nah, not too long." He risked a quick kiss and immediately regretted it as the doorbell chimed loudly and an instant afterward Oscar bounded back in, crying, "Make way! Make way!" and apparently oblivious to the scene before him. He glanced at Ron and Hermione, the former having flopped on to her chest for comfort, and cried, "Oi-oi - keep it clean, this is a family establishment!"

Gavin looked suspiciously as though he was about to burst.

In the room that formed a convenient loop between the living room, kitchen and hallway was the dining room, where Draco now sat with George, who was talking to his Twin in a series of unfinished sentences about something Draco could only assume was linked to the abundance of mince pies he was forcing his girlfriend to collect in a make-shift basket in the front of her top.

"So he said…?"

"Uh huh, so we have to…"

"Oh. And then - ?"

"Uh-huh. Twice…"

"I SEE."

Feeling rather left out, as Gina appeared to be entirely in on the plot already, Draco asked, "Am I allowed in on this joke, or…?"

"Just feeding little Ronniekin's food fetish," Fred winked. "You'll love it, trust us."

"To be honest, anything that renders Fat Head and the know-it-all annoyed, uncomfortable or in moderate-high pain I'd probably enjoy."

"Ahh, I'm starting to see the attraction, now, Georgie."

"Fuck off."

"Right, stage two… C'mon, Gin."

They watched as the other two left, cackling quietly.

"Don't you mind?" Draco asked, looking at George as he leaned across the loaded table and picked up a cherry tomato. He continued to watch as he relieved a piece of cheese and a piece of pineapple of their connecting toothpick and proceeded to stab said tomato with relish, making high-pitched cries of agony in a Northern Irish accent. "I'll take that as a yes."

"Whose twin does she think he is, anyway?" George asked, finally spurting the wounded tomato's insides into the centre-piece punchbowl and chewing deliberately on the rest.

"That thought draws up the most disturbing mental images…"

"Yeah, I know - there could be _two of her_!"

"Why do you insist upon making it sound like you are sleeping with your brother, Pumpkin?"

It took several minutes and an eye-watering choking fit for George to dislodge the small piece of tomato from the back of his throat, at which point the promptly clipped Draco around the back of his head.

"Sod off, you sick, sick puppy!"

"What? I didn't accuse you, I just asked why you insist upon making it sound that way. You know as well as I do that rumours do not need any encouragement at school…"

"Well, how am I doing that?!"

"The level of jealousy towards his girlfriend, for a start. That is simply not normal. I'm sorry, but it's not. Unless you're just jealous that he's enjoying liaisons you are not for the precise reason that _you are not_."

"What? Leave it out, Snowflake…" George still looked rather red, and Draco wasn't entirely sure that it was connected to the choking fit any more.

"Are you? Are you jealous because Fred's enjoying a full and fruitful sexlife and all you have is little old me?" Draco leaned across the sausage rolls and took a glace cherry from the nearest Christmas cake. "I bet you are."

George gazed at him for a moment as if somewhat lost for words, before catching his wrist so he couldn't deface the cake any further.

Draco smirked at him, "Poor Georgie-Pumpkin," he teased, "all wound up and to one to go for." He leaned across with his other hand instead and snatched another cherry defiantly, before giving George a smug grin.

"That's the last time I give you booze at the start of an evening," the older boy complained, pulling back and staring at him. "You're going to be really difficult all night, now…"

"You bet I am. I'm going to have a good time tonight, because I bloody deserve it. They can be their prim little Ravenclaw selves if they want; I'm not."

George looked rather afraid as he rested his head in his hands and his elbows on the table, muttering, "Oh God…"

"What? You're supposed to be 'up for a laugh' wherever, whenever…"

"Hmmm."

"Come on, first things first: I intend to be absolutely paralytic by the time I leave here, so you'd better show me where you put the beer."

"No."

"You'll do as you're told, Weasley, or I'll be forced to accidentally tell everyone you're jealous of Paddy the Leprechaun because she's stealing your man."

George immediately made a grab for him, dragged him into his lap and splattered another innocent baby tomato into his forehead.

"Say it again, go on, Fairy Boy."

Gasping with shock and outraged disbelief, Draco grabbed a handful of tomatoes of his own and practically straddled the older boy's lap as he tried to retaliate in kind, but found himself restrained by both wrists, struggling to try and reach. "I'll teach you to - ow! Oh, _Pumpkin_! Stop!"

"Er, you know… that's probably not a very hygienic thing to be doing around food," Oscar said as he wandered through on the way to the kitchen. "At least find a bedroom, for God's sake…" He then appeared to realise who he was speaking to and did a double take. "Christ, Weasley, what is it with you and Quidditch players?"

"What?" Draco demanded, immediately righting himself and trying firmly to act as if nothing had happened.

Oscar gave him a sympathetic snort of laughter and said, "Well, it's a very homoerotic sport, really, isn't it?" and walked off into the kitchen.

Draco turned back to George for clarification, to find him rather red in the face and trying to arrange his scarf again, which for some reason he had chosen to keep on. "What was that all about?"

George sighed and stood up, muttering something about wood that Draco didn't quite catch, and made his way into the living room.

Harry was slouched on a beanbag on the floor next to an armchair Ron and Hermione were sharing. He wasn't paying much attention to the conversation because it had a tendency to reduce itself to bickering; that and the fact that Gavin, Simon, Bambi and some others had taken up a station directly opposite him. It was hard to concentrate on anything while Gavin was smiling at him entirely unsubtly over his friends' shoulders. Or, he had been until he had given Harry a playful glare, as if to say, "Stop distracting me, you!" and manoeuvred around so that he was on the other side of the circle, and now had his back to him. Which was even more distracting for Harry… He began to contemplate the prospect of grabbing the other boy and leaving early.

As an hour or two slipped by, Draco began to relax. This was, in part, due to the alcohol, but primarily because he and George were having fun - and no one had attempted to burn him at the stake so far.

There was a boy, across the room, who had been giving him small smiles half the evening. Draco didn't think he knew him, but had started to wonder if perhaps he should. He had the idea that the boy was (yet another) Ravenclaw, but unlike Cross and Wood, in Draco's own year. He probably shared a couple of his classes, even… Maybe he was just being friendly.

He returned his attention to George as the older boy got up and said he'd get them a drink, before bounding off into the kitchen, already slightly merry himself. He seemed to be enjoying himself, too. He was smiling a lot, which Draco was pleased about, because he doubted George would be grinning if he'd rather be off doing something (or some_one,_ for that matter) elsewhere.

It only came as a mild surprise when the Ravenclaw sat himself down in George's seat and said, "Hi."

"Hi," Draco replied warily, not sure what the grounds for this approach were.

"I'm Wil, I don't think we've really spoken before."

"No, I don't think we have."

"Well, pleased to officially meet you, then," the Ravenclaw said, offering the wrong hand for him to shake. Draco shook it awkwardly with the right one. Wil suppressed a smile a little, which gave him a slightly bashful air that Draco rather liked. He started to feel more at ease. "So, how come you chose to spend New Year here?" he asked, "Not that I mean to pry - "

Draco gave a small shrug and said, "Well, you know how it is, I had so many things I could be doing…" he paused for comedic effect "…suicide, watching paint dry… that I thought I'd go with the simplest and stay home, but Weasley wouldn't let me."

Wil gave a laugh and sipped his drink, leaning sideways against the sofa. "You're staying with Harry Potter now, aren't you?"

"Alas, yes. You seem to know an awful lot about me for someone I have only just met."

"Well," the other boy blushed a little, "there has been a lot in the newspapers, recently. It's difficult not to hear things…"

Draco quirked an eyebrow and replied, "Yes, I should imagine."

"I, um… I'm sorry to hear about your parents. I know this is entirely not the time to talk about it, but still - I just wanted to say that you have my condolences."

Quietly, Draco cleared his throat and said, "Thank you."

"I nearly lost my mother in the Halloween attacks; the past few weeks haven't been entirely happy ones." He gave a small, pained smile and returned to his drink quickly, before resolutely adding, "But it's New Year - no time to be miserable! Do you have any resolutions planned? Or is that too personal a question? Don't feel obliged if it is… I've been here since quarter to seven and I'm quite into the sauce, I'm afraid!"

Draco gave a laugh himself and said, "Join the club… but I think that was my main plan for this evening: to get entirely what George would call 'shit-faced' and force him to carry me back to the cottage."

"Really?" Wil asked, "Are you very close, then? I'd heard rumours - "

"Oh - stuff the rumours! I'm sick of other people's opinions!"

Abashed, the Ravenclaw continued, "Well, I was just going to say that your families were far from friendly…"

"Oh. Well, no… they weren't. They're not. I can't stand the prat I caught at the Quidditch match, but Pumpkin-head's alright."

The other boy laughed again. "Are you sure you're not one of them? That's a bit noble for a Slytherin, isn't it? Risking life and limb for someone you can't stand?"

"Well," Draco replied, casting a glance at Harry as he gave an entirely unsubtle nod of 'come here' to Cross, "sometimes you have to make sacrifices to take the king." _Or in your case, Potter, the Queen. _"Greater scheme of things, and all that."

"I see. So is there a master plan I'm missing or…?"

"No, I just owed someone something, that's all."

"It must've been a pretty serious debt."

"Hm, possibly. But if you're going to do something you may as well do it thoroughly."

"Oooh, matron," Wil laughed, tapping Draco's shoulder with the back of his hand.

"If I was sober I'd lecture your for hours on that."

"Be my guest…I can spare the time."

"Do you Ravenclaws think about nothing but education? 'Ooh, lecture me, baby!' I bet you lot use that sort of thing as a chat-up line, don't you?"

Wil gave another laugh and looked away shyly for a moment. When Draco smirked at him, he shifted a little nearer.

In the kitchen doorway, George was debating what to do with the two drinks in his hands. It didn't look as though Draco and his new friend particularly wanted to be interrupted. He returned to the kitchen and slid one bottle across the worktop to Fred who was loitering in there with Gina.

"What's up?" Fred asked, catching the bottle and watching as George leaned back against the sink and shrugged, raising the bottle to his lips. He frowned a little bit and immediately shifted nearer. "Georgie?"

Silently, George returned the frown and shook his head.

"Is it - ?" he nodded towards the living room door.

"It's fine. Honestly."

"What's fine?" Gina asked, moving over to them and uncapping a bottle of ale with her teeth.

"Nothing," George replied impatiently. "I'll just give it a few minutes, that's all."

Fred stared at him for a moment, and glanced at the door back to the living room. He hesitated for a moment, before turning and going over to look outside.

"I see."

"Look, just leave it, Fred. It's fine. Seriously."

Fred gave him an appraising 'Hmm' and leaned back against the small island worktop instead, mirroring his brother's arms-folded stance perfectly. "You just going to let it go?"

"There's nothing _to_ let go!" George replied impatiently.

"You're not talking to just anyone, Georgie, you're talking your big bwuv, right, so cut the crap."

George gave him a slightly dejected look and shook his head, "Yeah, so you know there's nothing _to_ let go, then…"

"Excuse me," Gina interrupted, moving to stand right next to them, "You know - non-twin, here, wants to know what the _hell_ we're talking about."

"Yeah, well, Twin Stuff, here, none of your business," George replied in a half-mimic of her accent.

"Hey - I'm just tryin' to help, y'know…"

"Well there's nothing to help, alright!"

"So why are you tantruming like a big girl, then? It's meant t' be some fat chick sitting in the corner crying at parties, stupid."

George clenched his fist under his arm to keep from slapping her one. "Look a bit cosy, don't they?" he asked Fred instead.

"A bit," his brother shrugged, "nothing that can't be disrupted."

"No - no, don't go doing that… it wouldn't be fair."

"Since when have you cared about fair?" Fred smirked, but quickly dropped it when he realised his brother wasn't prepared to return it. "George, why don't you just take the drinks and go back in there?"

"Oh c'mon, Fred - does it look like I'm needed, particularly?"

"Yeah, well, who was it harping on about appearances being deceptive the other day, eh? Go on."

"Look, I've said no, okay…?"

"Fine." Fred turned, digging his wand out of his pocket and looked out through the door again. The two boys were sitting together, laughing. It did look cosy and it did look like it needed to be broken up; soon. It was a nonchalant little action, but it served its purpose: he gave his wand a little flick and deposited the remainder of the Ravenclaw's drink all down his front. He turned, quickly and winked at his Twin before sidling back to appear entirely innocent.

George stared at him. "What did you do?"

"I broke it up."

"Fucking hell, Fred, if you've upset him, I'll kill you!"

"Which says it all, really, doesn't it?"

"I can't - " he stopped and glared at Gina before looking back at Fred and continuing, "You _know_ I can't."

"You think too much. Just get out there with the drinks, will you?"

"Do you have any idea how unfair that was?"

"Yeah. Poor Wilfred. Now get the fuck out there."

"I don't think there's much point… Malfoy's just gone out down the garden."

The Twins exchanged looks of alarm.

"With Wil Rider-Digby?"

"No, on his tod."

"George, get your coat and fuck-off."

George gave his brother a half-annoyed, half-grateful look and dashed out through the utility room, completely forgetting their coats in his hurry.

As soon as Will had disappeared from sight, Draco made a break for the garden. It wasn't that he wasn't enjoying the other boy's company - on the contrary, he was pleasantly surprised to find that not all Ravenclaws used apparently photographic memories to fritter away study time on canoodling with underage Gryffindors - but he was starting to feel a little suffocated. It was all a little too much. Draco was not as naïve as certain people assumed; he knew when someone was coming on to him. It made him wonder, as he stepped out onto the magically heated patio where small groups or couples loitered, if there was an entire gay underground at Hogwarts that someone had not seen fit to tell him about. Which would be ironic, seeing as George thought he was the campest thing since the invention of the tent.

He made his way through an arch in winter-rosed trellis, and into the darkened wilderness beyond. The moon was surprisingly bright. Not full for a few days, yet, but certainly bright enough that he could make out the forms of wild-looking plants, arranged to give the impression of an untamed cottage garden. They encroached upon the gently sloping pathway he followed, forcing him to brush past them as he made his way along the slightly shimmery surface, spotted with the remains of the snow. It was broken into sections; benches were tucked away along its length, in shaded confines between scented bushes blossoming out of season and from further down, he could hear the sound of water - he followed it, wondering where it was coming from.

Ahead of him, when he thought he must be some two or three hundred feet from the house, he finally saw it. A large walled pond with a central granite mermaid holding an over-flowing water pitcher reflected the moon in its surface. Draco hesitated for a moment, then stepped up to the edge. The wall was above waist-height for him…he wondered why they had made it so high as he dipped his fingers into the water.

"I can sing if you wish."

The voice startled him, and he looked up in alarm. The mermaid was smiling at him, fluttering eyelashes as if she thought it would encourage him.

"Er… no. I'm quite alright, thank you," he said, and turned to lean against the wall. When he looked over his shoulder, she seemed to have settled back into her statuesque pose, and he tugged himself up to sit on the ledge with relief.

It was cold outside. He wondered if Will had noticed his departure yet; he wondered, again, where the Hell his supposed friend had disappeared to and why he had abandoned him for so long. _Git_. He'd only agreed to go to the party because George had promised to stay with him.

_He's probably off crammed into a closet with some unsuspecting Hufflepuff._ Draco almost laughed at the thought, but it was slightly bitter. If George really had deserted him for a quick grope with someone else he'd be absolutely furious. If he was honest, he didn't really think George would do that to him. He was probably with his brother and the Irish freak.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out his cigarettes. He was starting to get a little bored of them, really, but if he tried to suppress the urge it became as frustrating as being desperate for a snack or unable to reach an itch.

He was staring at the silvery blades of grass forcing their way in through mismatched slabs of slate, trying to establish quite how drunk he was - which was difficult without any real reference points - when a shadow cast itself across the stone. It glided forward slowly, stretching out, and Draco followed it with his eyes, travelling in the opposite direction.

George tutted and sauntered over to him shaking his head. He snatched the cigarette out of the younger boy's mouth and held it out of his reach, saying, "These things'll ruin your love life you know…" he took a quick drag and held it out of Draco's reach again, and Draco flailed for it and reached up so high he nearly slipped off the wall altogether - and would have done, had George not leaned forward and pinned him there, squashed against it - and yet still couldn't reach.

When George laughed at him, the smoke issued from the sides of his mouth and for a moment he looked like a Chinese Red about to snap a deer in half with its jaws.

"That said, it doesn't seem to deter Wil Rider-Digby that much…" He flicked the cigarette into the pond, where it floated miserably.

"Would you like me to sing for you now?" the mermaid asked with a delighted, subservient giggle.

"_No._"

The water feature gave a dejected little _hm_ and settled back down.

Draco was about to complain that his smoking was nothing to do with George, when it occurred to him that he was squashed against a wall being held in place by nothing except the Gryffindor himself. He looked up at him with some semblance of irritation, but at the indulgently smug smirk on the other boy's face he gave up all intention of attempting complaint or wit and tried to shuffle back on to the wall. George allowed him to struggle a bit before chuckling at him, scooping his hands underneath Draco's backside and lifting him back onto it. He pulled his hand away and immediately sucked at two of his knuckles.

"Ow."

"What did you do?"

"Nothing much," George shrugged, shaking his hand, "just grazed my fingers on the wall, that's all."

Draco snatched at his hand and help it close to his face. "It's nothing, you big baby."

"No, I can see that, but it bloody hurt… What are you doing out here, anyway?"

The blond boy shrugged and tilted his head almost on to his shoulder. George mirrored his actions and demanded, "_What_, Snowflake?"

"Nothing."

Humouring him, George shrugged and said, "Fair enough."

There was only a very short pause before Draco caved and asked, "Do you really think he's interested in me?"

"Who?" George wasn't actually sure why he bothered asking that, but he supposed it staved off the inevitable.

"Wil…"

He gave a small laugh and pulled back slightly. "Yeah, it's obvious."

The younger boy nodded, and seemed to be waiting for this to sink in.

"Interested, are we?" George asked teasingly.

Draco grimaced at him and replied, "Not especially."

"How come? He's not bad looking, he's pureblood, he's New Money, admittedly, but at least you know he's not just after your stash…"

"I don't know…" Draco shook his head with an uncharacteristically clumsy motion and said, "I'm just not, I suppose… not very much."

George regarded him with knowing dubiousness; "Harry."

A pair of flashing silvery eyes scowled up at him. "_No._"

"Oh my God! It hasn't _happened_? You haven't finally got over him, have you?" he asked in false surprise.

"Stop it, Pumpkin…" He sounded dimly defeated and somewhat confused.

"You all right?"

"Oh yes, yes, _probably_…" Draco told him dismissively, wafting at the air with his hand. George caught it, grabbed the other one and held them both still so that they couldn't flap at him.

"Are you having a good time?" he asked sternly, trying to catch a proper look into the younger boy's eyes to try and judge quite what he was thinking and exactly how inebriated he had become.

"Hm… yes…" Draco shrugged. "It would probably help a bit if I didn't have to watch Harry and Cross fawning over each other from the other side of the room in a transparent attempt at being something close to normal, but aside from that… more or less." He paused. "I'm getting better at this, actually… I only want to break _one _chair over Cross's head, now."

George rolled his eyes and sighed heavily at him, "When will you learn not to waste so much bloody energy on all that anger? It's like you've got this little piston engine firing away all the time… Can't you just shut up for a minute and try not think about Harry and how much you'd like to smack his boyfriend?"

Draco looked at him doubtfully, "I could _try_."

"Good…"

"I don't enjoy it…"

"I'm starting to wonder about that, you know…"

Draco stared up at him again, apparently intending to say something else. Instead he shrugged and looked down at the hands holding his wrists. There were serpentine knots tying themselves in George's stomach, but he ignored them and said the same thing he said every day, "_Snowflake_, there are plenty more fish in the sea, you know?"

"Yes, I do…"

"Ones without boyfriends you can't stand. Ones with more things in common with you than Harry… Ones who can _make their bloody mind up_…"

The Slytherin glanced up at him before sighing and shrugging and said, "I know… but I hardly know him."

"Who?"

"Who do you think?"

"Oh. Yeah… right…"

"In theory, I should be perfectly happy to abuse the idiot's friendliness. I've had enough practise…"

"But?"

"But…" Draco continued, awkwardly, as if he didn't like to admit it, "I wouldn't like to think I was doing to someone else what bicycle-face has been doing to me. There is underhand, conniving deviousness… and there is _below the belt_. I'm not sure I believe in 'by any means necessarily' right at this moment."

"What if you had a willing collaborator?"

"Don't be stupid. I may have seen the error of certain ways, but I don't exactly have a social death wish. I'm in enough of a predicament already, without asking the son of the Head of Leisure and Tourism to be a convenient distraction from the fact-- Oh, stuff Potter! I don't want to talk about him anymore…"

It took quite a bite to George's tongue for him to suppress the words, "Makes a change."

"Besides," Draco continued, apparently oblivious, "he's too studious. Interesting, yes, but I get the feeling his Ancient Runes project is going to turn into one of those life-long sagas that all lecturers seem to fall into making their life's work. I refuse to come second to a bag of pebbles."

Draco sank forward and pressed his face into George's shoulder in either exhaustion or despair; George let go of his wrist and wrapped an arm around his shoulders supportively.

"_Maybe_," he began in loaded tones a deaf highland cow couldn't fail to understand, "you're not looking to the _right people_, then…"

"Who else is there? You're the only friend I have. None of the others can stand me and I've been excommunicated from my own house!"

"Take off the blinkers, dunderhead."

"I don't want to. I'm too disturbed by the prospect of what I may see…"

Uncomfortably, George patted him on the shoulder and pulled back again. "I guess," he shrugged, "it's best some things go unseen, isn't it?"

"What do you mean by that?"

"Nothing. Can we go inside? It's a bit cold out here."

Draco stared at him and realised for the first time he wasn't even wearing his jumper. "You utter moron, Weasley! What are you trying to do, freeze yourself to death?"

"Not originally, no… I was just looking for you. It seemed quite important at the time…"

Draco looked up at him questioningly; "Why?"

"I was in a rush… we weren't sure where you'd gone or anything…"

"I see," Draco shrugged stiffly.

"Come on," George said, stepping back to allow Draco to jump down off the wall, but Draco held out both arms like a child expecting to be carried, so he stepped nearer again and rolled his eyes, tutting, before picking him up. He paused for a minute, looking at him, and Draco looked back, feeling as though there was something he was meant to say at this point - something they were both subconsciously waiting for. But instead, George gave him a half smile and dropped him back on to the snow, gently, before leading the way back up to the house.

"Hi, Potter," a soft, Welsh voice said over Harry's shoulder and made him smile so half his Hobgoblin dribbled down his chin.

"Cross," Harry replied, smiling wryly and nodding. And wiping his mouth. "How are you doing?"

"Bored," the older boy sighed and moved around the sofa to drop down beside him.

"It's almost half ten," Harry said quietly, "give it a bit… we'll go home."

"We can' jus' leave!" Gavin laughed. "Don' you think people's gonna notice?"

"They can't prove anything," Harry replied, mischievously, hardly above a whisper.

Gavin opened his mouth to answer when a pair of Hufflepuff girls appeared, one throwing herself down on to the sofa on Harry's other side.

"Hiya!" she said merrily, her cheeks rosy from the alcohol.

Harry glanced at Gavin before staring at her in bemusement for a minute and saying, "Er… hello."

"Happy New Year!"

"Um… yeah."

"Are you having a good time?" the girl asked, smiling and shifting to sit much closer.

"Yeah, thanks."

"So, who are you kissing at midnight?"

"Gavin," Harry said immediately, and laughed. So did both the girls. Gavin gave a nervous chuckle.

"No, seriously… because if you haven't found anyone…"

"Oh. Right… er…"

"Och, th' last thing yeh want teh be doin' is kissin' him!" Simon's voice said as he leaned heavily over the back of the chair. "Weren' yeh jes' sick, Harry?"

Gavin looked up at his best friend in surprise and said, "Oh. Oh _yeah_ - all over. Proper nasty, it were."

The girls recoiled slightly and looked at each other, while Harry pulled a deliberately nauseous face.

Both girls made a very quick exit.

"And Wood saves the day again."

"Aye, well, it's not like yeh gimme a choice."

"Sorry, mate," Gavin said, giving him a grateful smile. "Ach'ly, we were jus' thinking' tha' maybe we shoul' go back soon…"

Simon gave him a suspicious look. "Oh yeh did, did yeh?"

"Well, y'know how it is…"

"No, Gavin, and neither d' I wanteh."

"You're coming back to mine later, aren't you?"

"Hm, well, don' think I'll have a lotta choice, seein' as I've had the spend half th' evening babysitting this one," he sighed, patting Gavin on the top of the head. "'Bel's not in a good mood anyways… _Girlstuff_, apparently."

"Oh, gross!"

"Aye, console yerself wi' the fact it's not a concern yeh'll ever have teh face. From either side."

"I have," Gavin muttered darkly. "'S no wonder I ended up…er… yeah."

Harry patted his knee, glad that the room was mostly deserted, "Suits me."

Simon groaned and stood up straight, "You two're disgraceful. Yeh're a bloody lad, Gavin, can't yeh go back the actin' like it, yeh soppy bastard? And _you_, Potter! Stop corruptin' th' man! He were perfectly blokey before you. Well. I say 'perfectly'… what I actually mean is 'just about', but at least it were something!"

Gavin laughed and reached over the back of the chair to thump him, and missed.

It struck Harry then, just how true that was. Gavin had always been one of the boys as far as Harry could tell. He was friendly and pleasant, Harry already knew that, but he seemed to have been so much more boisterous and laddish, before. After he and Harry got together, he seemed to change, slowly. If he thought back he could probably even pin-point specific things that indicated the change more clearly. But Harry didn't mind. As he watched the older boy laughing and flushed in the cheeks he felt such a rush of adoration for him that it was difficult not to throw himself upon him right there. Maybe they should leave sooner, rather than later.

Somewhere downstairs a voice yelled out that they were going to play a game of spin-the-bottle-Truth-or-Dare and the rest of the room cleared immediately. Simon watched everyone leave with interest and said, "I hope yehs know I cannae leave yeh here."

"Oh, _what_?" Harry laughed, "Come off it, Simon…"

"Nope. I have a moral obligation not teh let the man embarrass himself in public."

"Fine, then there's only one thing for it." Harry playfully slapped the side of Gavin's arse as he half-knelt on the sofa, "Get your coat, Gav, you've pulled."

Gavin chuckled and said, "Y' wanna go?"

"No, I'm feeding you bad chat up lines for the sake of it."

"'Kay," he grinned and climbed to his feet.

Simon gave a reluctant groan and raised his hand to his head, "Oh man… yeh know, on second thoughts, I think I saw quite an inviting bench out there…"

"Well you can always come back with the others later. In fact, _can you_ come back with the others, later?"

"Yes, yes, I think I c'n manage it," the Scot nodded, grimacing. "I'm getting frightening enough images wi' out sound effects."

They slipped out more or less unnoticed, just giving Hermione a brief wave of acknowledgement so there was no panic when they 'vanished', and made their way up the winding slope back to school. There were a few people milling around outside the town's two most popular pubs as they passed through, but the rest of the lane was isolated and picturesque in the pale blue of the moonlight on snow. They walked with their arms around each other, as soon as they were confident no one was watching. Just like anyone else would. When they got in, instead of dashing straight upstairs and jumping into bed, as Simon had evidently assumed, they lit the fires in both downstairs hearths and pottered around making hot chocolate (with a liberal amount of cherry liqueur in) and buttered crumpets.

For a couple of minutes, while the crumpets were toasting, they sat by the kitchen hearth and Harry climbed on to Gavin's lap for a cuddle. It was so nice to be alone. Back in Wales they had had one night where they were reasonably free from interruption, but they had both been so nervous - and eager - that night that just having space hadn't been a priority. None of the others would be back for a couple of hours yet, and regardless of any intentions of sexual activity, they had somewhere where they could sit and talk and be cosy without anyone telling them they were soft or soppy.

There was no one to be dismissive of their feelings. Harry was pleased about that. It was starting to grate a little.

They took their snacks and settled in the living room, curled up on the sofa with Harry slouched against Gavin's side. And they talked - about everything and nothing, from getting butter out of fabric when Harry dropped one of his crumpets on the sofa to whether Winchester or Glossop would win the league and, briefly, Harry's parents. Harry always found a way to include them, somehow.

When they finally got up to go to bed - and Gavin insisted on washing up before they did, because that's what his mum always did and always told him it was bad luck to leave things unfinished, so you couldn't start the day afresh - they made the effort to wash and brush their teeth and then climbed in together and settled down peacefully.

They didn't do much, at first. They carried on random conversations, and eventually, when it seemed like a good time, Harry apologised for his behaviour. The last thing he wanted was to hurt him. Gavin was irreplaceable; Harry was starting to think that they were meant for each other, and he didn't even really believe in things like that. He couldn't imagine anyone else tolerating his insensitive behaviour the way Gavin did, or being so boyish and yet so good-hearted and kind. Gavin understood the Family Thing, too. They talked about that quite a lot. Gavin knew things about Harry's childhood that even Sirius and Remus didn't, and sometimes he didn't know what to say, because his upbringing had been out in the West, by the sea, for the most part, and with a loving family who desperately wanted children and he couldn't relate - but he tried, and he listened. And he was just as fallible as anyone else, which just made him all the more human. Harry loved him to pieces and he knew he was on to one hell of a Good Thing; it was just that sometimes he needed reminding.

Kissing the side of his neck and sliding a hand down the front of his boxers was actually a fairly good way of reminding him; it seemed that Gavin was starting to realise that.

"WHY DID YOU LET ME DO IT?"

"Because you said it was your purpose for the evening, Party Boy," George said scooping a hand under Draco's arms and steadying him on his feet, lest he should skid over on the compacted snow again.

"That's no excuse and you know it," Draco replied, slurring petulantly.

"Yeah, yeah, of course. Just warn me if you're going to throw up or something so I can drop you."

"Don't you dare! _No one'll_ want me with bruises all over my arse!"

"One, you underestimate people's kinks, mate; two, if they get close enough to see your arse I think that a bruise is the last thing they'll be bothered about."

"Well… perhaps. Yeah…yeah, perhaps, Pumpkin…"

"I bet Wil wouldn't mind your poor, bruised little botty."

"Who says he'll get to see it?" Draco wrapped both his arms around the older boy from half way behind him, and allowed George to half-drag him up the slope.

"Well, you looked pretty cosy, if you ask me."

"What," Draco demanded impatiently, "so I can't talk to people without it being some disreputable precursor to debauchery?"

"Not all blokes are as prudish as you, y'know. In fact, you'd get a right reputation if everyone knew."

"I AM NOT FRIGID!"

"I am, it's bloody freezing out here."

"Really, really UNFUNNY, PUMPKIN!"

George reached back and wrapped an arm across his shoulders, squeezing him tight. "You _love it_."

Draco grumbled incoherently.

"You're not going to remember a moment of this in the morning, are you?" George asked, glancing down at him. "And then I get to tell you all sorts of stories about what you got up to and hold it against you for the rest of your life, don't I?"

"You can bloody try…"

"Trust me, I will."

Draco gave another indistinct grumble and muttered, "I don't doubt it for a minute…"

By the time they stumbled in through the kitchen door Draco had regained control enough to be almost dignified and was actually feeling just a little belligerent. George still decided that drinking a ridiculously large glass of water and about a pint of coffee was in order, and eventually pinned him down on the table and threatened to pour the water down his throat by force if he didn't get on with it. Draco wisely chose to give in, but not without considerable complaint. The Gryffindor proceeded to rummage through the cupboards and make him a ham sandwich, apparently to 'absorb some of that booze'. Draco's observations that if he wanted to do that he should have absorbed it before he diluted it fell on deaf ears.

When he stood up to go to the bathroom he tripped over his own feet and was only saved from breaking his nose on the stone floor because George grabbed the back of his jumper and pulled. Instead, he ended up crumpling to his knees and crouching there laughing. George laughed, too, and called him a daft git, before standing over him and heaving him up under his arms.

"What have you done to me, Weasley?" Draco whined playfully.

"I haven't done anything! You did it yourself."

Draco slumped back against the older boy and tilted his head back as far as he could to look up at him. He started to slip, so George wrapped both arms across him and half-laughed, "Easy…"

Draco closed his eyes and relaxed so that George was holding almost all his weight. It felt quite nice. Warm. George tightened his grip and he could feel the older boy's breath over the side of his face.

"Drac, you alright?"

He nodded and took a deep breath.

"You know, you can't really stay like that forever…"

Draco rolled awkwardly, so that his face was crushed against George's chest and the older boy had to fumble quickly to keep hold of him before he slipped to the floor altogether. "Killjoy."

"Do you wanna sit down or something?" George asked, clearing his throat.

"No."

"Yes, you do, come on…" He tried to make him stand up or his own accord and move, but Draco refused.

"Don't, Pumpkin, 'm comfortable…"

He heard the older boy give a small huff of laughter, and then felt himself being heaved up into George's arms and dragged into the living room, before being dumped unceremoniously on to the sofa. He could feel George sit down beside him, lifting his legs up and dropping them back down across his lap. Draco opened one eye and squinted at him. George was absently stroking the top of his left foot; he couldn't quite remember taking his shoes off. It was soothing, anyway, and if he stayed there he thought he might actually fall asleep.

At that thought, he snapped both eyes open and sat up sharply. George jumped and dropped his hand. Draco didn't quite understand why, but he forgot to wonder when he found himself being tickled on his soles instead. Screeching with laughter, he clambered over and grabbed at George's hand, kneeling beside him and trying to prevent the older boy from tickling him. George was laughing and defeating him continually, so he writhed and flailed and eventually collapsed on to George's shoulder, breathlessly ordering him to stop. Draco didn't mind when one of George's hands came to rest on the small of his back or lightly clasping his hand. In fact, he hardly noticed where they were, just they were there, because it just seemed strangely appropriate.

And there was the breath again; much more ragged from laughing and a little faster. After a minute, he could feel the older boy's face move against his hair, and a careful, almost uncharacteristically hesitant, "Drac?"

"Hmm?"

"You… um…"

He felt the older boy let go of his hand and instead move to his shoulder, pushing him back slightly. Suddenly hyper-aware of everything and feeling every hair on his spine standing on end, Draco leaned back a bit and looked back at him languidly. George's lips looked a little bit dry and he had them half parted as if he was going to say something. Draco watched with interest for a moment, before suddenly blurting out, "Are you going to kiss me?"

George gave a small laugh, or maybe it was a gasp, it was so small Draco couldn't really distinguish, and asked, "What makes you say that?"

"I dunno… I thought you were going to, before…" he shrugged, scrunching his eyes up and blinking at him, trying to clear his vision properly. His mind didn't feel that drunk, but his body certainly did.

"Oh yeah?"

The hand on the small of his back was twitching.

Draco nodded. "A few times…In - in the garden…when we were fighting with the tomatoes… I just… I thought you would."

"What'd you reckon if I did?" George asked, neutrally, giving a slow nod.

"Yes."

"'Yes' what?"

Draco thought about answering, but gave up, closed his eyes and never actually remembered if he had been the one to lean in, or if George had actually taken the hint and pulled him down; all he remembered was climbing on to George's lap and being held there, and liking it, and liking the feeling of lips against his and a tongue against his own and _not_ feeling quite so much of a child for a change.

He tried to move closer, kneeling either side of George's waist where he had slumped against the cushions, one hand on the older boy's shoulder, the other wedged between him and the sofa. George's hands had drifted to settle one on Draco's backside and one on the back of his neck, stroking through the fine blond hair at the nape. He liked it; he genuinely liked being touched like this. He hadn't much thought that he would - someone invading his personal space and letting them get to him, finding out his weaknesses before he really did - but crushed so close to him it felt like the best thing in the world. The warmth and the adrenalin and the intimacy. This was what Draco had been missing and he'd be damned if he was going to have it kept from him any longer! He pressed closer, cramming the last slivers of space out from between them; George pushed back and gave a small, deep-throated murmur, shifting against him and apparently trying to drag him closer.

He'd made him do that! Suddenly, Draco realised that he was shaking.

Carefully, he pulled away, and his lips felt damp and cold and George looked up at him with surprised, dilated eyes, as if he had just realised what was happening. They were both breathless and as Draco opened his mouth to speak, George began, "Drac, I think - "

Suddenly gripped with the certainty that George was about to tell him it was a misunderstanding, a mistake, and desperate to absolve himself of the obvious humiliation, Draco cut in, "You're right. You're completely right - you should go. You were supposed to go back once I was home. The others will be missing you." He climbed off of the older boy's lap and stood, awkwardly, turning to the kitchen and wiping his mouth awkwardly on his wrist.

"Right…" George said, flatly. "I suppose I should."

Draco nodded fervently, not even sure whether George was looking or not. _What have I done?_ Suddenly he felt horribly sober.

"You going to be alright?"

"I'll be fine."

"Are you sure - ?"

"Yes, really."

He heard George give a sigh and concede, "Okay," before slipping past him into the kitchen to get his trainers and coat on again. Draco waited by the door, hugging himself uncertainly. Was this an example of things going very badly wrong? It felt like it. It felt so tense, so nerve-wracking. If he had got this wrong - if he lost George because of this…

His train of thought was cut off as George pulled his coat on and untangled his scarf, looking at him with a bemused half-frown. "I'll see you tomorrow, then?" he asked dubiously.

Draco nodded jerkily as an iron fist clenched itself around his stomach. _You're just going to walk away, aren't you?_

"'Kay," George sighed, and opened the kitchen door. He stopped on the threshold and turned to look at him, then, suddenly, he reached out and pulled Draco to him, firmly pressing their lips together once more. When he pulled away and ducked abruptly out into the garden, Draco felt as though something small and hot had exploded in his chest. Staggering slightly, he smiled to himself and shut the door, making his way toward the stairs.

He sank on to his bed in a vaguely delirious stupor. He - _George_ - he and George! He wasn't sure he'd believe it if his lips weren't still numb and tingling. So many times he had thought that was about to happen; so many times he had feigned obliviousness or broke away from the opportunity. A nagging part of him had wanted to, but it seemed such a stupid idea that he hadn't let it happen all the times he thought it could have done. It went against all the roles they had formed for themselves. He was - he loved Harry - and George was his best friend. Until about five minutes ago. It was all broken, now, anyway. You didn't kiss your best friend and mean it and it not change things. Because he and George fitted and Draco enjoyed his company and if he couldn't have Harry… why shouldn't he try? If this was what George wanted, Draco was prepared - _wanted_ - to try.

He stood up, still deep in thought and dragged his clothes off, not bothering to put his pyjamas on before he fell into bed. He curled up, bundling the covers into a ball he could bury his face into, and gave a sigh that surprised him by deteriorating into a giggle. He was happy. George liked him - _liked him_ liked him - alright, so he'd panicked at first, but when George had turned back and kissed him goodbye at the door he thought that he wasn't wrong after all. George _had_ wanted to kiss him. He couldn't wait to do it again.

When a loud cry sounded through the wall to Harry's room, he found he didn't even care that much, never mind the fact that it sounded somewhat pained. Not as much as he would have if his head wasn't full of red hair and freckles and hazel-green eyes that laughed so easily… and then there were the slightly chewed lips, that reminded him of the mouths on ancient Greek statues, and the slight feel of stubble. Draco would probably never have stubble worth mentioning, he realised. Harry probably wouldn't until he was about forty-eight, either. Draco's mind drifted again, trying to re-live every moment of the kiss, every point at which his body had been pressed close enough to feel the hardness of bones beneath their clothes and the very first moment when George's tongue had bumped against his own…

Draco's eyes flew open and he rolled onto his back gasping sharply. Maybe he shouldn't have thought about that in quite so much detail. He stared up into the dark, trying to think respectable thoughts; he failed, and started to feel deeply frustrated. It was his own fault. If he hadn't dwelt on it… He couldn't do anything about it - it would be utterly improper. Utterly, _utterly_ improper. His fingers drummed themselves against his stomach. George wouldn't _mind_, though. God - he'd never actually _know_. But still, utterly improper. Utterly.

His father was right; he was weak, after all.

He woke up to the sound of voices downstairs. People were laughing, and there was the smell of bacon wafting up the stairs. Groggily, he sat up, throwing back the covers before half falling out of bed and scavenging across the floor for his pyjama bottoms. He dragged them on and in the absence of the matching top, he pulled on a t-shirt instead. Rubbing his face and taking a moment to straighten the worst of his hair in the mirror, he took a breath and headed downstairs.

Empty sleeping bags were strewn across the floor from where everyone else had already woken and apparently converged in the kitchen. He braced himself for coming face to face with George again, and felt his mouth try to pull into a smile, but he wouldn't let it. Not yet. Besides, he was half afraid that they'd be able to tell what they had done; what they'd done, what he'd done and the sort of scandalous dreams that it had induced

He opened the door to havoc. Gavin was in the process of burning his fingers as he plucked slices of toast out of the grill, Harry was showing off, flicking slices of bacon out of the pan and onto a plate, Gina was sitting of Fred's lap and squealing at him, Hermione was in the process of extricating herself from the rabble and Ron's grip to let in an owl that was tapping expectantly at the window and as they saw him enter, he was greeted by a round of cat-calls and cheers.

"Oi-oi, here he is! How was it, lover boy?"

Instantly, Draco felt himself turn crimson. "What?"

"Aww, yeh've made him go all shy!" Gina laughed, bowing over so her head almost rested on the table. "Poor sweetie!"

"It had to happen sooner or later…"

"What are you talking about?" _Oh my God, what has he been saying?!_

"Down to get him breakfast in bed, are you?" Harry asked, smirking at him.

"_What_?"

"Don't play dumb, Draco, we all know - "

"Where's George?" he interrupted, just as Hermione untied her copy of the Daily Prophet and gasped.

Ron immediately turned to her, but the others continued to tease Draco. "Look, give it up, now, we know exactly where he is. Tell him to come down because you're not fooling - "

"WHERE - IS - HE?"

Everyone abruptly fell silent.

Fred blinked a few times before saying, "Well…we just thought he stayed here. Your light was out when we came in… we just…we _assumed_…" he glanced at Harry, looking somewhat confused, "Did you hear him come in?"

"Only when they first did. We could hear them talking…"

"Bu' no' much else…" Gavin conceded uncomfortably.

"We weren't really paying attention, to be honest…"

The Welsh boy blushed and mumbled, "'Arry wasn't feelin' too great…"

"My scar…You know how it is…"

Draco swallowed and said, starting to feel panic welling up inside him, "He left - he went back to the party - !"

"Did anyone see him?" Simon asked, quietly, looking around them.

A few people murmured 'no' and everyone shook their heads, except Ron and Hermione, who were both now reading the news paper, ashen-faced.

"THEN WHERE IS HE?!" Draco yelled, furious that no one had noticed. "HE COULD BE OUT THERE - DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW COLD IT WAS LAST NIGHT? HE COULD BE LYING IN A DITCH AND YOU DIDN'T EVEN NOTICE!"

"Nah," Fred said, shaking his head without conviction, "Nah, if something had happened… I mean, I'd know."

"So where is he?" Draco demanded coldly.

Fred shook his head again, obviously having no idea.

It was only then that they realised Hermione was clinging onto Ron, crying. Harry rushed over to her and tried to help comfort her, asking, "Hermione, _Hermione_, what's wrong?"

Everyone fell silent again and gazed at her worriedly. Ron gazed at Harry for a moment with knitted brows, and handed him the paper. Emblazoned across the top, in large, black letters were the worlds, "RESOLUTION OF EVIL: TERROR AT PENDLE AS MUGGLES AND HALF-BLOODS BURNED AT STAKE"

Harry read out a few lines, heavily, "…it is believed that among the dead are up to a hundred children taken over night from homes in the Pendle area and an unknown number of Christian ministers from across the country. Eight ministry officials known for their Muggle sympathies have been reported missing."

"Dad!" Fred cried out, leaping to his feet and pushing Gina away in a panic.

"We'd have heard, wouldn't we?" Ron asked anxiously. "Mum would have flooed us - she knows where we are…"

"My dad - " Gina said, for once sounding scared, and clinging to Fred desperately, "my dad's a Catholic minister…"

Draco turned and made for the stairs.

"DRAC? Where are you going?"

"I don't have time for this," he replied, "While we're fussing over Muggles getting their just desserts we don't know where George is or what's happened to him. For all we know - " he stopped, mid-sentence, feeling his lip quake, and forced himself to take a breath, "I'm going to find him. You lot can do what you want, but I won't sit here and do nothing!"

The others looked at each other anxiously, before scattering to get dressed or floo home to check everyone was safe. There was no time to waste.


	18. Chapter XV Tell Me Nothing But HomeTrut...

**Chapter XV**

**Tell Me Nothing But Home-Truths**

_"An episode to file under 'Never Try Again'…" Easyworld_

Draco Malfoy had never dressed so quickly or negligently in his life; last night's jeans from the floor, a jumper (inside out), odd socks, no t-shirt. He hadn't brushed his teeth or his hair, and he was running down the stairs two at a time. Harry and Cross were dragging on coats at the bottom and Granger was carefully tightening the lid on a flask of something hot. _Practical, practical_.

He didn't even want to think about the potential that they might be too late for soup or tea or anything else at all. He didn't want to keep imagining blue lips, frosted red hair and blank, staring eyes, but he couldn't help it. He felt nauseous. There wasn't even anyone he could tell how scared he was. Harry was the last person he'd offer that information to; who else was there? Granger? Cross? George's own twin?

"Don't stand there!" he snapped, shoving Harry back so he could reach the door latch and get outside. From the living room there was a sudden, girly shriek of "THANK GOD!" and Draco bitterly thought _'At least someone's had good news…'. _

The snow outside was in a drift several inches high against the door. With a pang of even greater concern he raised his leg and stepped knee-deep into it, stumbling on the invisible step. He could hear Harry behind him, telling Granger to watch her footing. It seemed ludicrous to think he was worrying about her with everyone around, on the doorstep to the house, when there was every possibility that the very same over-sight could have resulted… could have resulted… _frozen red strands on a pale forehead… blue lips he'd last seen when they'd withdrawn from his own…_ He shivered and bit at his own lip, wading through the snow. He had no idea what they were going to do. Retrace their steps up from Hogsmeade? What if George had taken a shortcut across the edge of the forest? What if he was so covered - with so much snow having fallen - if he was so covered…

He gave a tiny hiccup and knotted his fingers in his fringe; he'd forgotten to wear any gloves.

"D'you think…?" Gavin said quietly, leaning in to Harry and apparently not wanting to finish. "I mean…"

Harry shook his head and shrugged. It was right what they said about guilt; how would he feel if the last thing he ever said to George was a snide comment about Draco? How come he was always losing people? He looked at the boy beside him as he ran his fingers through his hair, and grasped the hand frantically as it fell to his side. Gavin gave him a small smile and fixed an anxious frown on the disturbed snow ahead of them.

Ron was looking rather pale, but if Fred said he didn't think George was _hurt_ or anything…It worried him more that George might be completely alive, but in the hands of some Death Eater, God-knows-Where. So their father was safe, but everyone knew Arthur Weasley The Muggle Nut. And everyone knew who his kids were…

The gates to the road loomed ahead of them; the landscape beyond like a great white canvas littered with spots of black where the boughs on the border on the forest could be seen in the distance. Where were they to begin? It all looked identical, even though they knew it so well…

Fred took a deep breath and wondered if his gut instinct was right after all. What if that moment when he puked over someone's front wall had had nothing to do with the large quantities of alcohol that were hammering at the inside of his head and giving him a very acute reminder of exactly how much he had drunk? For a moment he had the worst feeling that maybe he was missing something very, very ominous.

But suddenly, as if on cue, a familiar voice called out, "Where are you lot going without me, eh?".

Every single person in the group whirled around and stared back at him as he bounded down the main steps and made his way over. No one said anything, but a couple of people glanced towards the back of the group. Draco had been striding ahead of the rest of them, and now he was furthest away; or, he was until he barged through the assembled bunch, almost falling over himself to see. He staggered between Gina and Simon, the snow practically up to his knees. He looked like a frightened kid. To be fair, a frightened kid who had just lost his parents and evidently thought they weren't to be the last.

Fred thought, for a second, that the Slytherin was going to fall into George's arms and burst into tears. Which would have been hilarious, naturally. Now that he could see his twin was obviously completely fine, Fred was perfectly fine, too. Pretty much anything was fair game for a laugh. But then, there was a stunned silence. He thought that maybe he was finally seeing Draco Malfoy utterly overcome. As it turned out, he was right. He was overcome with fury.

"Where the hell have you been?" he ground out through his teeth, shaking. His knuckles clenched so tight they went white.

George blinked at him and shrugged, "I went up to the dorm and stayed there."

"Oh, you did, did you?" the blond boy demanded angrily. "Did you even _think_ that it might be a completely _stupid thing to do without telling someone?_"

Fred watched as his brother shrugged again and looked away, saying, "No." He was either lying or he was hiding something.

"You never thought that people might _worry_? You never thought for a _minute_ that people might be _concerned_ when you didn't turn up at the party, and you weren't at Harry's? DIDN'T YOU?"

George gave a forced laugh and said, "Calm down, Draco."

Fred winced. _Bad move, little brother. Really bad move._

The blond boy stared at him aghast, for a moment, before exploding, "CALM DOWN? YOU'RE TELLING ME TO _CALM DOWN_? WE THOUGHT YOU WERE DEAD!" He looked like he might lunge at him. "YOU FUCKING _STUPID_ - "

"Woah, watch the language, mate."

"Don't you -" the kid's voice was shaking; Fred felt like he was watching a Quidditch accident in slow motion, " - don't you _ever_ tell me to calm down. Ever."

"What's the problem? I'm fine, okay?" George's temper was starting to erode, now, because he sounded tense. Malfoy had about two sentences before he got a taste of his own.

"The problem is that you are a inconsiderate, thoughtless _bastard_ and I can't believe - "

"WHAT DO YOU CARE ANYWAY?"

Wow, half a sentence.

"What?"

"What does it even matter? It's not as if you give a rat's arse anyway, is it? You can't just pick and choose when it's alright for you to keep fucking tabs on me, okay?"

"Choose? You were the one who left!"

"You practically threw me out!"

Next to Fred, Gina muttered, "Ooh, this is getting interesting." Those weren't quite the words he'd have picked, but she had a point.

"You liar! You _complete - _"

"You know what? I don't fucking care! It only happened because we were both completely out of it, anyway, didn't it?"

An ornamental tree lining the path to the left of them suddenly burst into extremely hot flames. Simon, Gavin and Ron - who had been standing closest to it - recoiled in surprise. Hermione immediately started blurting out streams of Latin in attempt to put it out.

"How would you know?" Draco asked coldly. "You never had the nerve to ask in the first place. It's a real pity I don't seem to have quite the talent I used to for picking my friends."

He turned and stormed away towards the cottage.

George looked for a moment as if someone had ripped out his insides and handed them to him, but no one was paying attention to that, they were either watching the Slytherin or trying to help put out the tree, which was rather a pointless exercise.

"What the bloody hell is going on?"

Black and Lupin had literally appeared out of nowhere at the school gates and walked directly into the whole situation. By the time Fred looked back to his brother, he was dragging himself miserably up the school steps. He kicked the heavy wooden doors as he passed. Fred didn't hesitate before following.

George got to the seventh-year boys' dorm and slammed the door behind him so hard that it bruised Fred's wrist where he had put his arm up to protect his face, having been halfway into the room at the time. He kicked at his trunk and snatched up his pillow, hurling it across the room with such force that it knocked the jug off the dresser. Then he realised his brother was there, and pressed his palms into his eyes before falling backwards on to his bed, defeatedly.

Fred waited for a few moments, seeing if he would speak of his own accord, and shut the door carefully, rubbing his arm. When George said nothing, he sighed and sat down on the edge of the bed, beside him.

"You going to tell me, then?" he asked.

Without uncovering his eyes, George mumbled, "Made a prat of myself."

"You did just now, yeah. So, what d'you do? 'Cause it sounds like whatever it was _Snowflake_ hasn't quite got over it, yet."

"_Never_?" the other boy replied sarcastically.

"Well, if you'd seen the fit he threw this morning…"

"Huh?" George lowered his hands a little and looked across at him, confused.

"I thought he'd die of a broken heart on the spot if something _had_ happened to you. Which, little brother, was a fucking inconsiderate thing to have put us all through."

"Fuck off."

"Don't be a knob."

"I'm old enough to look after myself. I don't need babysitting."

"Georgie, Georgie, Georgie, you haven't seen the papers, have you?"

George blinked and sat up a little; "Why? What's happened?"

"Massacre. Loads of kids from Pendle."

"You're joking?"

"You know when I'm joking."

He watched as George sat up and rubbed his eye awkwardly. "Sorry… I never knew. I'd have come back if I'd have known."

"'Course you would. It weren't that, though. He was doing his nut before we knew about that…"

George cradled his head in his hands, briefly, before getting up and starting to pace the room. "What does it matter?"

"How far did it go? The way you're acting anyone'd think you've been cherry picking, old chum."

George stopped pacing and rested his forearms on the windowsill, burying his face in them. "I kissed him," he admitted, after a moment and kicked the wall in frustration. "Kind of."

"How did you kiss him _'kind of',_ you idiot?" Fred laughed, before the tone of the other boy's voice cut him short.

"I'm not sure I did…"

"What?" He had made many assumptions about what had gone on, but he hadn't quite banked on anything as confusing as this.

"I'm not sure I started it, alright?"

"So what's your problem?"

"Obviously, it was a bloody mistake, either way. He was completely out of his box - and so was I, you know? It was a stupid thing to do. I've fucked it all up, now. I should never have let it get that far…"

Fred rolled his eyes at the sulky tone and shook his head, "Look, mate, if all you did was _kiss_ him…! What was it, some kind of soppy little snog goodnight, you big, gay toss-pot?"

"No…"

He laughed, because in a way, it was quite funny. His little Georgie and Draco Malfoy! Funny, and completely bloody insane. "So come on, loverboy, what _did_ you do to him?"

George turned and leaned back against the wall and gazed at him sulkily. He wasn't in the mood to make light of this, evidently. Fred waited for him to say something, but instead he just stuffed his hands in his pockets and looked at the floor.

"Oh _come on_, mate, you're acting like a bleeding girl."

"It was just - more than that." He cast him an uncomfortable look and muttered, "He seemed really up for it…"

"_Up for it_, up for it, or…?"

"No - no…well, no, I didn't think so… Just, okay with what was going on."

"And he wasn't?"

"All of a sudden I'm sitting there, and he's looking down at me and I opened my mouth to say something stupid… I can't even think what, now… and before I can even say anything, right, he's telling me I should go. He was going on about me getting back to Oscar's and stuff…and… You see? You see - it's like it's my fault or something! But you know - he practically asked me to kiss him. I'd decided not to and everything, before he started getting all bloody touchy-feely on me."

Fred scrunched up his eyes for a moment and said, "Eh?"

"Well…"

"Did he ask you to kiss him?"

"More or less…"

"And you did."

"Yeah."

"Then he knocked you back."

"He told me to leave."

"Did he actually say, 'George' or Pumpkin, or whatever, 'I want you to leave'?"

George looked uncomfortable. "I opened my mouth to say whatever and he was like, 'Oh yeah, you're right, you should go'."

"And… you did."

"Yeah, of course I did!"

Fred gave a snort of laughter and walked over to clap him on the shoulder. "Well done, Georgie. Well done."

"What?"

"You're as useless with blokes as you are with women, aren't you? I reckon if you'd asked, your little Snowflake would have spread 'em right where he was."

George blushed and grimaced, "Shut up, Fred."

"Look, he's a big _girl_, he's giving you the run around like a girl. Just treat him like one."

"He's not a girl, though, is he? He's my best mate and now he fucking hates me anyway, so what does it matter?"

"There's no way he hates you, dumb arse. And you know, you call him your 'best mate' all the time, but let's face it - you've only even known him a couple of weeks."

The other boy scowled and muttered, "We hit it off…"

"And that means he can't be replaced?"

"I don't want anyone replaced!"

"He's not Ollie, mate."

"I know…" George said, looking as though he understood that all too well, "It's me, this time."

The others, minus Remus, who thought it best to follow Draco and see if he was alright, were ushered towards the school and ordered to wait in the Great Hall while Sirius went to find Dumbledore. They sat in silence, at first, clustered around the near end of the Gryffindor table, none of them entirely sure what to say. It was uncomfortable. They had all been reminded, now that Black and Lupin had returned, that there were things happening in the world that were bigger than the drama surrounding Draco and George.

It didn't stop Gavin chewing on his lip and eventually asking, "D'you reckon they're alright?"

Ron looked at him with an expression that suggested he quite hoped they weren't. No one else really responded until Harry muttered, "It's not like it'd last anyway."

"You don' know that," Gavin replied, sighing and fiddling with a strand of hair that kept falling in his eyes.

"I think Georgie really likes him, actually," Gina informed them with a slightly biting edge to her voice. "Which makes two of you, doesn' it?"

"Oh, get over it, Gina," Harry told her, sounding as if he couldn't really be bothered to have this argument again, "you don't even know me, okay? Stop trying to make judgements on things that are way beyond you."

Gavin squeezed his hand under the table and murmured, "_'Arry_…" warningly.

Harry rested his head on the older boy's shoulder wearily and said, "Tell her to shut up, then."

Gavin didn't, but he cast her a beseeching look and wrapped his arm around Harry's shoulders. None of them knew what sort of night they'd had. It was an awful thing to witness, seeing someone in that much pain and being unable to do anything about it; worse that it was Harry. Not being able to make things better - not quite understanding where the agonising pain was coming from or even knowing where to begin… Harry wouldn't even let him go downstairs or get any of the others because there were no grown-ups around and he didn't want them panicking. He was so blasé about it - acting as if his scar mysteriously burning in the middle of the night was _normal - _common place!Even once the younger boy had fallen asleep - fallen asleep or passed out, Gavin tried to convince himself of the former - he had lain awake, waiting for it to get light outside. He had hardly slept at all. But he had managed; he felt a little proud of that.

"Well," Simon shrugged, looking at him with the sort of look he knew meant 'You're pushing your luck, pal', "whatever happened's not really our business…"

"They didn't seem to care much, or they wouldn't have yelled it across the school, would they?" Ron snorted.

"Ach, well… I think everyone were quite highly strung…"

"Maybe nothing did happen, then," Harry smirked against his shoulder. He let it go.

"Don't you think Draco has enough problems, without becoming the focus of even more gossip?"

"It's not _gossip_, Herm, it's just us…"

"Well I think he must have been terrified, and with good reason. Regardless of whether he and George… Regardless of what _may_ or _may_ _not_ have happened, they are very close, and Draco can't possibly be expected to have got over losing both his parents - "

"Why are you taking his side?" Ron asked, sounding put out.

"It's not a matter of taking sides, Ronald - "

"He's still Malfoy."

"No he's not," Harry argued idly, "He's Snowflake, now, isn't he?"

"Oh, don't you start!" the red-head grimaced, scrunching up his nose like a pre-schooler.

"Whatever's goin' on," Gavin broke in, not sure he could face an all-out argument again, "'s none of our business, an' I agree wi 'Ermione. Drop it or someone'll 'ear who we don' want knowin'."

"On a similar note…" Simon said, regarding him with an arched eyebrow. Gavin sighed and nodded slightly, fully aware that he was right. He nudged Harry a little and made him sit up; automatically, their hands fumbled for each other under the table.

"You know," he began, desperate to change the subject, "wha' you did outside 'Ermione, that were quick thinkin'… Lucky you were there."

Hermione gave a faint blush and said, "Well, I simply couldn't leave it to burn - Professor Sprout told us that plants feel things just as we do - the poor thing must have been in agony!"

"I've never seen anyone manage to make about a million gallons of water from a _wand_ though, 'Mione," Ron said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders quite freely; Gavin couldn't help but feel a little envious of their liberty.

"Maybe you're our Water," Harry mumbled, his head now resting on his hand as he leaned on the table, looking as though the early rise and boundless exuberance of an hour ago had deserted him completely and the night's events were now catching up on him. Gavin decided to ignore Simon's warnings and raised a hand to soothingly stroke the back of the younger boy's head, concerned that maybe he should go home and get some more rest.

"You could be right, yeh know…" Simon said, rolling his eyes at Gavin and turning his attention to Harry.

"I know I could be," Harry mumbled, "Water has to be a girl anyway…"

Hermione turned very pink and began to protest that she thought it was ridiculous, but suddenly a thought came to Gavin and he blurted out, no longer feeling bound to making a fool of himself by the Slytherin's presence, "Well, you'd think - Nymphs are always women, aren' they? An' you did a really good job, an ev'rythin'…"

"It was merely textbook," Hermione replied, blushing even more. "If something catches fire you almost certainly use water to extinguish it - "

"Yeah, but you knew what you were doing and everything," Ron agreed. "I reckon it's you. You've got to be, 'Mione."

"So what are you," Hermione scoffed lightly, "'Flamed Air?"

Everyone stared at her.

"Me?" Ron half-squealed. "Why would I be Air?"

"Because you're a wind-bag?" Gina offered.

"Nah," Harry mumbled back, "That'd be Herm."

"Harry!"

It was hard to tell who had replied first, because several people made the exclamation, but it was Ron who said it loudest. Gavin winced a little and looked apologetically at the others.

Simon gazed at him in disbelief for a moment before shaking his head and rolling his eyes.

"I don't know what to make of any of this," Hermione sighed, looking perplexed, "I was so sure that we needed someone from each house to create the balance - I can't imagine why a prophecy would feature me _or_ Ron."

"What," Ron demanded indignantly, "it's alright for _Malfoy_ to be part of it, but not me? Cheers."

"Oh, don't be silly, Ronald."

"He's got a point, Herm," Harry said, straightening up and looking at her directly, "You two have always been part of this - way more than Draco ever was. If it's going to be anyone, it's you two."

Ron blushed but gave a small, self-satisfied "Hah!" in her direction. Gavin had a feeling Ron's opportunities for bettering his girlfriend at something were few and far between.

"Well, fine," she snapped, folding her arms, "We'll look at it again later. We ought to hope there's something in this because at the moment things are looking really rather dire, wouldn't you say?"

Around the table a few people nodded grimly.

"He's making a show of the fact he's back," Harry muttered darkly. "Making a point…"

"Elvis is back in the building!" Gina grinned, earning herself unamused, and in Hermione's case, rather appalled stares. "Aw, c'mon, you guys! Y' gotta see the funny side in these things…"

"Funny side?" Harry ground out, rising to his feet and looking as though he wanted smash her skull into tiny fragments with the pewter jug half way down the table. "Where is the 'funny side' in war, Gina? Can you tell me that? You're a Muggle-born, you've never been _affected _by all this - you never lost your family, like me and Gavin, your parents were never hurt in the attacks like Simon's - or - or been _terrorised_ by your own father because he follows that monster! You've never seen people _killed_, people you care about weren't so torn apart by what happened the first time around that they spent - "

"'Arry," Gavin said softly, pulling at his boyfriend's coat and trying to tug him gently back into his seat. He didn't want to think about what he had had taken from him, because what he had been given in its place had always been enough. And it was embarrassing, being used as ammunition, even if Harry was making a very valid point. "Calm down - she didn' mean it… Come on, let's not start fightin' ourselves as well, eh?"

He thought Harry was ignoring him at first, until he turned to him and mumbled, "I want to go back to the cottage…" Gavin merely nodded and got to his feet, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and kissing the top of his head. Privately, he wondered whether the stress of knowing the Dark Lord had returned to such power was getting too much for Harry. He couldn't help but be a rather worried.

As they turned to walk away the Irish girl got to her feet and sneered back, her voice shaking as if she were suppressing tears, "Don't you talk to me about war - I'm a Catholic from Ulster, you arrogant bastard! 'What do I know about war?' in-fucking-deed. You want to take your head out o' your arse, sonny and start thinkin' outside of your own fucking clan!"

Gavin gave Harry a gentle push to keep him moving. The sooner he got him out of this situation and back to the comfort of the cottage, the better for everyone concerned. It seemed best to keep Harry well away from…well, everyone, when he was in this state. Not everyone would be willing to tolerate it for long.

Sirius strode along the second floor corridor towards the headmaster's office. Remus's morning news-owl had followed them to Sussex and brought with it a staggering blow. Neither of them could quite believe it, at first. They had slumped back on to the edge of the chintz bedspread and read the article over and over again, willing it not to be true. The attacks on the Ministry had been bad, the attacks on St. Mungo's unmitigated evil, but this - this was an atrocity beyond comprehension! Children! Children taken from their beds in the night and murdered so horrifically that it didn't bear thinking about. Muggles couldn't freeze fire and enjoy 'pleasant tickling sensations' like their own forebears could - Voldemort _knew this_ - his Death Eaters knew this! This was beyond the realms of evil.

If there needed to be a declaration of war, this had been it.

They had left the bed and breakfast in such a hurry that they had no time for breakfast, and there hadn't been an awful lot of use made of the bed, either. Their first concern had been for Harry, their second, the Order. Something would surely be done, and they were both required to be there when it went underway.

He turned the final corner just in time to see the swishing of Snape's around the opposite corner, combined strangely with the distant clacking of McGonnagal's hurried footsteps fading into the opposite direction. He wondered where the hook-nosed bastard was off to and whether his double-crossing, traitorous schemes would yet again cause more problems than they solved. Bastard. Severus Snape remained one of Sirius Black's Least Favourite People. Particularly since Draco had let it slip that the conniving little rat had been putting down his Moony to _students_. He'd have his neck, one day, he bloody would.

Dumbledore was sitting at his desk when Sirius approached the doorway. The heavy wooden door was slightly ajar, and through the gap he saw the old man leaning on his desk with his head resting in long, bony-fingered hands. He looked tired and beleaguered; Sirius had seen him look so, before, but rarely. Any time that the man everyone had grown up so convinced would see things right and lead them through the darkest times showed weakness, it shook them. The very foundations of their defence relied upon their belief in Dumbledore. If he didn't know what to do, they were lost.

Carefully, Sirius knocked on the smooth wooden surface and waited to be called in. There was a short pause before he received any response.

"You may come in, Sirius, come in," the old man's voice called, with weary pleasantness. "I was expecting you."

Sirius wanted to point out that it didn't really look like it, but he daren't. Now was not a time to question him. He'd already seen enough uncertainly in the man he revered that any further suggestion seemed likely to bring the world crashing down around his ears.

"I came as soon as we got back - Remus's gone back to the cottage for now. He's dealing with teenage drama queens at the moment."

Briefly, there was a twinkle in the bright blue eyes and a wry smile touched knowing lips. "Ah, yes, of course. Mr. Malfoy will be quite alright, I am sure. Things have a funny habit of turning out alright in the end, when you are young and eager."

"Yeah, might take fourteen years to do it, though," Sirius replied, not waiting to be asked to sit. Dumbledore acknowledged his remark with a slight nod of the head and nothing more. There was little point in debating what could not be changed. "What happened? I mean, we know what _happened_ - but how did he get away with it? How could we not have heard anything? Not even Moody had any clue? What? Because you wouldn't have just let us go on fucking _holiday_ if you did, would you?"

Dumbledore gazed at him from behind his half-moon spectacles. The shine in his eyes had definitely gone. "I will not lie to you, Sirius. There had been word - unsubstantiated, of course - of an unknown attack on an unknown target. We had no way of telling and no reason to stop you from taking a much-earned rest when you both chose to."

"You've got to be fucking _joking_! It could have been the school! What use are we defending the school when we're on the South-fucking-Coast? What, do you think Bat-Boy would hold the fort or something? That little bastard would probably run off back to his old chums at the first fucking chance!"

"Sirius!" Dumbledore said dangerously, his voice low and clear. "You will sit down and you will listen."

Sheepishly, Sirius sat - unsure when he had even taken to his feet.

"I will tell you again what I have told you many times in the past: I believe Severus is as loyal to this school - and to me - and both you or Remus have always shown yourselves to be. I place my faith in him because he has given me reason to.

"My decision to allow you to go to Hastings was one I made in sound judgement, despite your suppositions to the contrary. It seems clear to me that what both you and Remus need at this moment is time to re-discover much that you have lost; as individuals, and as a unit." Sirius raised his head to look into the now tender eyes before him. "The Marauders were the heart of our Order, Sirius, young as you were. All that remains from that time is your bond with the inimitable 'Mr. Moony' and the great innovation that you shared. It is of paramount importance that you are given the time to recover from your losses - both physical and memorial - and rejoin the group as the properly unified partnership you are so fondly remembered as."

Sirius swallowed a lump in his throat, remembering - in the fragmented jigsaw of his memories - the way the Order had welcomed them. The way James and Lily would work together and the way he, James and the Rat would sit around a table with Remus attempting to process the logistics of his strategies.

"You understand each other like no two other members of the Order, Sirius. Can you understand my decision to allow you the space and take this chance?"

Sirius looked up at him sharply, about to argue that he couldn't, when the headmaster continued:

"In my absence, we will require new leadership, Sirius." The look in Dumbledore's eyes told him more than any number of words ever could. "It would not be prudent to allow all our eggs to remain in one basket under such circumstances."

"I - I can't _replace you_!" he spluttered, terror at the very prospect of such responsibility.

"I would not expect you to, alone. We must prepare for every eventuality, Sirius. Together, I am certain that I could rest in the knowledge that my work is left in capable hands." He gave a small smile, "Or perhaps, paws."

"Are you _expecting_ to go somewhere then?" Sirius challenged, feeling a somewhat juvenile defiance welling in his chest. Whomever - whatever - it was thought they could depose the one person in their world who never gave up hope - never let injustices lie and had the strength to fight their causes - had another fucking thing coming.

"No, no - not in the slightest," the old man smiled, rising and approaching the golden bird on its nearby perch. "I merely felt that it would be safest to allow my," he paused to feed the bird (which promptly burst into flames, singing his fingers), pretending to search for the words, "_successors_ - "

"Understudies, more like," Sirius muttered, darkly.

"- were out of immediate danger. We could not afford to lose you both so early on, could we, dear boy?"

Sirius watched for a few minutes as the small, pink creature in the ashes began to sprout small, yellow feathers one at a time, looking just as stoned as it always did.

"So what do you want us to do?" he asked heavily, feeling immediately weighed down by the new burden upon his shoulders. "So I'm expected to explain all this to Moo, am I?"

"I feel that you would be best able to explain this to him. It will allow me some time to muster my best skills of persuasion for when he inevitably visits me to explain that his condition will in someway bring about the implosion of our solar system and numerous surrounding galaxies, should he be placed in any position of greater significance than over-glorified librarian."

Sirius did wish he could defend that small joke at his beloved Moony's expense, but unfortunately it was right on the nail and any attempt to suggest otherwise would have been both a waste of time and wit. So, he nodded reluctantly and rose.

"What do you want us to do in the meantime?"

"You will relinquish some of your timetable to Remus, as he is currently available - "

"Only because the bastards don't think people like him are important enou -"

"Yes, Sirius," Dumbledore interrupted, giving him an indulging nod, "I quite agree. You will relinquish half of your lessons to him. The remainder of your time you will work with me. This applies for both of you. I will need Remus's research skills as equally as your understanding of the, ah… shall we say, 'Rogue Mind'? I am confident that the connection both of your share with our students will make this a very easy transition for you."

Sirius looked at him doubtfully.

"I quite look to spending more time with you," he said with an alarming grandfatherly smile. Sirius, in all honesty, was not. Remus's eccentricities were quite enough to deal with on the average day; adding hours of Dumbledore's mental jiggery-pokery felt rather ominous.

"Er, thanks…" He started to back away towards the door, filled with a leaden knowledge that explaining whatever he had just agreed to, to Remus, was unlikely to encourage any sort of affection for the next ten years

"Oh, and Sirius?"

"Yes?"

"No more fanged toads in lessons, I beg you. Ever since the incident with the jock strap in my Quidditch days I find them rather fearsome. That is all."

Sirius Black, thirty-seven years old and supposedly reckless in his bravery, was quite convinced he had never been so disturbed in his life.

Remus hesitated in the kitchen, surveying the half-eaten breakfast scattered across the table, and frowned. They had evidently left in a hurry. He contemplated making some tea to give him an excuse to go upstairs and disturb the boy, but he decided against it and made his way to the hall. He stood at the bottom of the stairs and listened carefully. There was nothing. Hesitantly, he climbed the steps and listened again outside the door. He thought he heard a slight sniffling sound, and sucked on his lip for a minute before calling, "Draco?" softly. There was no answer; he called again. "Draco, are you alright? It's Remus…"

"I'd appreciate it if you left me alone."

"Wouldn't you like to tell me what happened?"

"No."

There was a distinct inflection of angst there, but that was hardly surprising.

"Well, I don't plan on leaving, so I'll be out here, should you change your mind."

"There's no point…"

"Really?"

"Yes."

"Don't you think it can be resolved, then?"

"It isn't as if he cares…"

"Why not?"

"He said so… He practically said so."

Remus settled down on the top step, wincing as his knee clicked. He had a feeling that he may be there quite some time. "And why is that? I thought you and George were very close… You certainly were yesterday…"

From the other side of the door he heard a distinct burst of ironic laughter.

"Draco?"

"You have no idea…"

"Really."

"Oh yes, _really_."

"Well, perhaps you could fill me in?"

There was silence for a few moments, before the teenager's voice answered, much closer, now; he must have moved to sit behind the door, "It doesn't matter."

"Well, forgive me for saying, but it seems to matter to you rather a lot."

There was another lengthy pause before Draco admitted, slowly, "Yesterday, you could say, we were rather closer than we have been…"

Remus experienced an awful feeling of dread and momentary certainly that Lucius Malfoy would find his way back from the dead in order to hold him entirely responsible for this. "I see," he said, flatly.

"You don't have to panic, you know…"

"Oh, good."

"He ran away before anything happened."

"George?" Remus asked in surprise; it didn't seem to make any sense at all. It had seemed fairly obvious to him that the older boy was utterly smitten with Draco.

"No, the tooth fairy, who do you think?"

Remus managed a small cough and an "Ah."

The voice on the other side of the door took on a rather whiny quality as Draco complained, "I don't _understand_, Remus. It really seemed as though he liked me - and then…" There was a sigh and a long pause, "I thought he was dead or something. I thought that he must have got lost in the snow or fallen down a ditch because he was drunk and it was all because of me! He could have caught hypothermia or just… I was actually _worried _about him, the fool! But it's not as if he cares less, is it?"

"I'm sure he does, I'm sure he's very touched that you were so concerned, Draco."

"No, he's not. He thinks I'm stupid. And he wishes none of it had ever happened."

"Well," Remus rubbed at his forehead in confusion, "What is it you think he regrets?"

The voice from the other side of the door went conspicuously quiet for several moments. "You won't be angry?"

Rather put on the spot, Remus hesitated before saying, with some trepidation, "Well, I shall try not to over-react… Even if Sirius and I are not your _legal_ guardians, we do have something of a moral obligation to ensure your safety while you are under our roof…"

"I've already _told you _he left, Lupin!"

"So, what it is you're concerned about?"

There was another pause; "We…kissed…"

"Oh." Well, that was rather less alarming than he had anticipated.

"…And things…"

"Ah…" A saying involving counting and chickens sprang to mind. "And at what point did he choose to leave, so unexpectedly?"

There was another short burst of sardonic laughter and Draco replied, "I was about to tell him…" His voice trailed off uncomfortably.

"That you like him?" Remus suggested, trying to sound in some way encouraging.

"That I liked _it._"

"Ah…" He should have sent Sirius.

"… That I like _him_. Well… perhaps I had already suggested that, by that point… I can only remember certain parts. I was…" It seemed such a struggle for him to say all this; Remus wondered whether the door between them was more of a help or a hindrance. "I was going to tell him… maybe not even then - maybe today - but I wanted to say that Harry doesn't matter…"

"Doesn't he?"

"I… well, yes, he does, but not the same… Does that change things? Will I have to leave?"

"No, no, don't be foolish, of course not!" Remus replied. "It's actually something of a relief."

The voice from the other side of the door sounded puzzled, "Why?"

"Because it's one less complication to have to worry about, mainly."

"Right…Well, I shouldn't expect to be seeing as much of George Weasley, now, either."

"Are you quite sure it's that serious?"

"I didn't think so at the time… I thought… When he left, he seemed very tense and I thought then that I had done something terribly wrong, but then he turned back and made a point of kissing me goodbye, so I assumed we were alright… And then I woke up this morning and no one knew where he was. He said he was going back to the party, but he didn't, he went to the castle and had everyone worried out of their minds! What does he think he was even doing?"

Slowly, Remus was building up something of a picture of the previous night's events. They were rather skewed and somewhat biased toward Draco's point of view, but he had a nagging suspicion that he wasn't the only tragic neurotic in this household, at all.

"What did he say when he decided to leave? Did he make any excuses?"

"Well…"

"Well?"

"It was rather complicated."

"In what way?"

"I thought he was going to tell me it was all a terrible misunderstanding, never to be spoken of again, and reminded him that he was supposed to be going back… I didn't want him to think it - if he thought it was _important_ to me and it was nothing to him, I'd look like a fool…"

"So you suggested he leave?"

"Not entirely…"

"Well, I have a feeling that that is the impression he received and he quite possibly feels that he was the one being rejected."

Remus was surprised when, after several moments of silence, the door to the bedroom opened revealing a thoroughly dishevelled boy looking at him uncomfortably as he reached up from where he sat to hold the door handle.

"Really?" he said.

"Sirius would have."

"George is not Sirius, Lupin," the boy said with a sort of seriousness that made Remus smile.

"Quite; we wouldn't be able to stand two of him, now, would we?"

Draco gave a small grin.

"Honestly, Draco," he continued, earnestly, "It's easy to assume that those with more outward confidence are completely impossible to hurt, but it's rarely true."

"But this morning - !"

"He probably told himself that was that - he's probably feeling very unhappy, too."

"He could have come after me…"

"Pride isn't a trait solely reserved for Slytherins, Draco…"

The blond boy sighed and leaned his head against the edge of the door; "I know."

"In fact, I would say it is one of our most negative traits."

"Gryffindors don't actually _have_ any positive traits."

"Indeed? You might have difficulty explaining that to Mr Weasley, next time you speak to him."

"_If_ I ever do," the blond boy said, cynically.

"You will, I'm certain of it."

The boy gave a doubtful 'Hmm', before looking up at him suddenly and asking, "How was your trip?"

"My trip," Remus echoed, a small smile flitting across his face. "Let's just say it was uneventful."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"That isn't to say it was unpleasant - "

"Just disappointing, I suppose."

"Not at all. It's just rather a pity we had to return home so early. But I suppose everything happens for a reason. If we hadn't returned immediately, goodness knows what might have happened here!" He offered him a smile, but Draco didn't return it.

"The whole school would be one pile of ash, you mean?"

"That's not what I meant."

"I still lost control, though… it has all been a waste of effort, hasn't it?"

"Your lessons with Sirius helped, surely?"

"Until this morning."

"We all make mistakes…"

"Do you ever have the feeling that you are one?"

Remus paused for a moment before urging, "Talk to him, Draco. Don't waste your time being unhappy over something you still stand a chance to change. I'm sure I'm an old woman in your eyes, but do try to trust my judgement on this."

Draco looked up and him and frowned, slightly, "The ironic thing is, Remus, I _do_ trust you. Do you think I would still be sitting here, if I didn't?"

"Ah, but trust in me and trust in what I have to say are not necessarily the same thing…"

"Perhaps; perhaps last night is proof that my judgement is rather off at the moment."

By lunchtime Draco was still languishing on his bed, having refused anything to eat on the grounds that he wasn't hungry. Remus had tried to convince him it was just because he was having a bad day and that cramming something down his throat would in some way make him feel better. Draco had still refused, the idea making him feel sicker than ever.

He knew he had to go and talk to George at some point. He knew he may have been at fault in some ways, because he hadn't made it clear what he wanted, but he refused to accept that it was entirely his fault. He wasn't really angry, any more. He doubted, now, that George had scared them deliberately or that he may even have considered the implications of his actions (he was a _Weasley Twin_ - it would be thoroughly out of character for him to consider the implications for a minute). And he had started to wonder exactly why George had chosen to go back to the castle instead of the party. If he had no intention of going back, he could have stayed…

Draco heaved himself up onto his elbows when a soft tap at the door disturbed him again. "Remus, I said I wasn't hungry, really - "

He stopped mid-sentence as the door opened a little and George peered in.

"Hey…" the older boy said, awkwardly, "Mind if I, um…?"

Draco stared at him and pulled himself into a sitting position hurriedly; "Come in."

"Er… yeah. Can I?"

"That's what I just said."

"Right…" George sidled in and closed the door behind him, looking sheepish. He hovered there for a moment, obviously thoroughly uncomfortable and eyeing the space at the end of the bed as though it might bite him, apparently unsure what to do with his hands as they wandered from pocket to hair to folded around his chest in a half-hug. Draco's stomach flipped, and he wasn't sure whether it was because a part of him hoped the other boy was nervous or because another part was terrified of what he was going to say. When George said nothing, Draco found himself deciding that if anyone was going to put this right, they would have to do so soon. So, he took a deep breath and hoped that if he at least started a conversation, things might come a little more easily.

"You can sit down, you know," he said, trying to keep his voice neutral. "I won't bite."

George frowned a bit, it may have been a slight wince, and murmured, "No, I know…" He didn't sit.

The awkward silence swept in, again.

"Well," Draco tried, taking a deep breath, "You're not dead, apparently."

"Um… no. Not yet."

"Do you anticipating being so any time soon?"

"Well… that sort of depends."

"Yes, it does. Either sit down or I'll flambé you."

The Gryffindor seemed to consider this threat for a moment, before carefully leaning back against the wall and sliding slowly down into a sitting position.

Draco felt his stomach lurch. _I see._

"What now?" he forced himself to ask, keeping himself carefully in control of his expressions - and the shake of his voice. Now would be a really bad time to crack. Really bad.

"That's what I came to talk about."

"Of course."

"Yeah."

Where had that comfortable feeling gone? How, in the past twenty-four hours, had that entire feeling of closeness dissipated so completely? It felt like talking to Remus through the door; as though there was a large, plate-glass wall sitting between them. What was there to do, other than make the first move? There was a chance, he thought, of at least coming out of this with the upper hand if he took the initiative.

Quietly, he cleared his throat; "About last night…"

George looked up at him as though trying to suppress a feeling of trepidation. Gryffindors really were rubbish at concealing their emotions.

"…I enjoyed myself, you know."

"Yeah," the older boy nodded, with a smile that looked like invisible hands were pinching his cheeks and forcing him to, "So did I."

"Then how come you didn't go back…after?"

George shrugged; "I didn't feel like it."

"I see. So, what did you do instead?"

"I went back to our dorm and just…" he shrugged again, "Went to bed."

For a moment a bright and rather salacious burst of hope welled in Draco's stomach, but the look on the older boy's face as he pulled at frayed strands on his jumper rapidly extinguished it.

"Oh."

George glanced at him apologetically.

"What's wrong, Pumpkin?" Draco asked, finally. "Because you can't possibly imagine that I meant what I said this morning. I was just shocked because we had no idea what might have happened to you - well, that's not entirely true; we had plenty of ideas and they were all dreadful."

"I'm sorry, okay?"

"Well, no - not really, it's not. You're acting really distant and I don't know why - "

"Draco…"

It was quite amazing how being called by his own name, not the ridiculous nickname the older boy had given him, made him feel quite so sick. "Did you mean what you said?" he asked, quietly, remembering what the other boy had yelled across the lawns a few hours earlier.

"What?"

"You said, this morning, that what happened _only_ happened because we were drunk. Did it?"

George gazed at the floor thoughtfully, "Didn't it?"

_Oh, very evasive_. "Well, I'm not sure it would have happened quite like that if we hadn't both consumed a considerable amount of Hobgoblin, but that doesn't make it the reason it happened… does it?"

The older boy looked up at him for a moment, as if searching for something to say, but he couldn't hold his gaze and rapidly gave up. "The thing is, Drac, I just… it's not that simple."

Draco swallowed and leaned back against his headboard, so that he didn't have to look at him, huddled on the floor. "Isn't it?" _Well, this is going well._

_Shut up._

"It's not that I don't want it to… I mean, I _like you_, Draco… _Snowflake_…"

_But?_

"But…?" _And _you_ can shut up._

"I just think we should try to be friends."

"What? What do you mean, 'friends'? We're already friends!" _Told you so_.

"I mean…" George's voice went suddenly very quiet, "I think it's best for everyone if we just… stay that way."

"_What_?"

"It's not, I mean, don't think I don't _like you_ - I just…"

Draco's stomach stopped lurching and twisting and finally sank altogether; "Don't like me like that," he finished.

"No, no - I do! Seriously, Drac, I _do_ like you 'like that', it's just…"

"What?" he could feel the chill in his voice as he said it, but it was done now.

"I think it'd be a really bad idea to let that happen again."

"I see." All the thoughts from the night before, laying on that same bed, thinking about how wonderful it was that George liked him, that finally he really had someone that thought he was special… completely pointless.

The disappointment must have shown on his face, because suddenly there was a Gryffindor resting his elbows on his bed, looking up at him with regretful hazel eyes.

"I'm sorry," he said softly. "It's not you…"

"Pull the other one, Weasley."

"Hey, listen to me, it's _not you_."

"So you said."

"Oh Snowflake, come on, think about it; I'm leaving here in a few months. It'd be emotional kamikaze…"

"What?"

"Kamikaze… you know… like suicide."

"Oh, thank you for that, very thoughtful."

"Huh? Oh - shit - look, I'm sorry."

"Would you mind just… going away?"

"What? Snowflake, listen a minute, will you?"

"I've already heard plenty."

"Obviously, you haven't or you'd stop acting like a prat."Draco glared at him and opened his mouth to reply, but George beat him to it. "Firstly, you're not over Harry. This time yesterday you were laying over that bed whining like a five year old because he was going out to the party with Gavin. You couldn't give a toss about me as anything more than a shoulder to cry on - "

"Don't make out this is about Harry."

"Yeah, but it _is_ about Harry, isn't it? It's only because of the way you feel about him that we ever even spoke to each other."

"But he doesn't _matter_! I was trying to tell you this…"

George's frustrated expression dropped instantaneously and was replaced with a stunned one. "When?"

"Yesterday… last night. I don't know… but…He just doesn't."

"Oh." George sank back onto his heels and seemed to be struggling to process this information.

"I mean it."

"I…I know you do. You're mad, like that."

"You've been telling me to get over him for weeks!"

"Yeah… Sod's Law, isn't it?"

"I beg your pardon?"

George took a deep breath and rested his head on his forearms for a moment. "Drac, it doesn't really change the fact that you are still going to have to be here two years after I leave, does it?"

"So?" '_So' he could be off seeing and doing whomever he chose and you'd never know._

"I don't think it'd work."

"How do you know?"

"Because I've been here before, haven't I?"

"Not really."

"Oh, come on, Snowflake, don't mess around. You know it's true. You know all about me and Ollie - it's just like this."

"It's not!"

"Yes, it is. I'm him and you're me. Only thing is, you aren't even a little bit as experienced as I was and I'm not about to go and ruin things for you for the odd grope and maybe a half-cut shag in the broom shed the night before I leave. It's not happening."

Draco could feel himself blushing, and in a strange way, a tiny bit aroused. "Don't I get a say in this?" he asked, sullenly.

"You wouldn't want to be there, trust me, Snowflake."

"What if I'm only interested in the 'odd grope' and the 'half-cut shag', Pumpkin?"

George didn't even bother responding; he just looked up at him from beneath a doubtfully arched eyebrow and conveyed the words, 'Are you taking the piss?' in absolute clarity.

Draco tried again, his own inner voice laughing along with George, "Well, okay, what if I don't mind?"

"What if I do mind?"

"But why would you mind? I don't understand why it's such a big deal - "

"Listen to me, tit-wit," George said, almost laughing and reaching up to hold on to the sides of Draco's face and make him look straight at him, "I mind because I don't want to make you miserable and I don't want to get miserable when I have to leave here in June and then never come back again."

"And you'll miss me less if we don't ki - ?"

"Hopefully," George said firmly, dropping his hands down onto Draco's lap for an instant, before sitting back on his heels and wiping his palms on his jeans, "Hopefully."

"And what if it doesn't work like that?"

"Could you handle it? Seriously? I'm leaving, you'll be stuck here, there'll be people talking - knowing you, you wouldn't trust me for ten minutes out of your sight and then you'd get jealous… and alright, I'd be the same, but either way it's going to make us both completely miserable - "

"You've been thinking about this, haven't you?"

He felt George reach out and touch his hand as it knotted in the edge of the bed covers; "It's all I did all night."

"You're completely serious."

"Yeah," George said, nodding reluctantly.

"So you expect things to just carry on like before?"

"I was hoping they would… More or less."

"Do you even think that's possible? You do know that if a dog eats someone it has to be put down because it gets cravings for human meat, like bears do, don't you? What if this is the same and we just can't contain ourselves?"

"I wasn't really planning any sudden experimentation with cannibalism, Snowflake…"

"Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about."

"Okay, okay… sorry. I do. I do understand… and I don't know."

"Honestly - it seems absurd, knowing that we both… If it had just been a kiss, it might have been different, but knowing you like me, too…"

"You've got Wil…"

"Look, you overestimate the power of my will if you think - "

"No, _Wil_. The bloke you were chatting up, last night…"

"I was _not_ chatting him up!"

"He likes you, it's obvious."

"So?"

"Why don't you give it a go?" George suggested, not looking him in the eye, but trying to sound encouraging.

And suddenly Draco's mind was awash with Slytherin cunning.

"Well, it's funny you should say that… he was telling me I should go along to the Winter Fayre down on Hogsmeade Green, the day before we are officially back at school. I think he may have been asking me to go with him."

"Oh," George said flatly. "Well, that's good, isn't it?"

"Do you think I should go?" _Say 'no', say 'no'._

"Well, yeah, of course you should. He's a decent bloke, isn't he? Not bad looking…"

"He… seems it."

"Good. Then I suppose it's settled. You go and owl him and let him know you'll go with him, and take it from there."

"But, George - "

"I think it'll be good… We went to the Fayre, once, they do it every year…"

Alright, so it wasn't going entirely to plan, but it might still make George jealous if he really thought Wil and Draco were getting close. It might, surely?

George sighed and climbed to his feet, brushing himself down. "I think I'll head off…"

"What? Why?"

"Just… because."

"Pumpkin, wait!" Draco said, jumping to his feet and grabbing at the older boy's sleeve. He fumbled for words for a moment and then asked, "Is this it, then?"

He thought that the look of pain on George's face might have given him some sort of relief, proving that he was unhappy about it, but it didn't.

"I suppose it is, yeah," he said, with stiff neutrality; he looked anywhere but at Draco.

Draco bit his lip, afraid that it would start quivering if he didn't. There was no way he was going to make this more depressing, more awkward, than it already was by being a baby about it. He nodded silently and let his fingers uncurl from George's sleeve. The older boy sighed and muttered, "Come 'ere", pulling him into a tight hug and burying his face in his hair.

Draco had to bite even harder on his lip.

After a minute or so, George pulled away a bit and looked down at him. "I'll see you later," he said, and when Draco hesitated he leaned down and gave him the barest brush of a kiss.

Then, he was gone.

Across the grounds, Fred was sitting on top of the main steps; for once, without the company of his girlfriend. He was watching the cottage in the distance, waiting for some sight of his brother. He knew what was _supposed_ to be happening, but whether George would go through with it, he wasn't convinced either way. He was a stubborn bastard, sometimes, but it didn't take much to see the pillock was completely besotted with Malfoy. Or that the smug little albino wasn't exactly indifferent himself. The panic he'd been in that morning had been a pleasantly surprising revelation. Or, it had been until George had started getting overwhelmed by his sense of duty-to-do-right. The tit. Why he couldn't just let himself go with the flow and enjoy what the world threw at him, Fred wasn't quite sure, but if he was honest, he hadn't been quite the same since Oliver bloody Wood had left.

Fred thought it would all be much simpler if George just gave up on blokes and started seeing girls again.

He looked down at his stomach in resignation when he felt a sudden pang. _Well, something's happened,_ he thought and stood up, leaning on the wall to wait for him to appear. A minute or so later, there he was, striding through the snow back towards the school.

"How d'it go?" he asked as George made his way up the steps.

The other boy looked up at him and shrugged, "I told him."

"That good, eh?"

"It's fine."

"How did he take it?" Fred asked, hanging back as George started to step through the main doors. Just as he expected, George stopped and turned around, looking at him with a sort of tired anxiety.

"He's got a date with Wil Rider-Digby. He'll live."

"You're kidding?"

"Nope. I told him to go. At least Wil's in the same year."

"You're cutting off your nose to spite your face, you are."

"Look, I'm not going to ruin things for him."

"And what about you?"

"Doesn't matter."

"Listen to me, Georgie, you're acting like you think you're stuck in one of mum's sticky little pink romance novels. 'Oh, woe! I'm a poor, tragic, little thing! I shall never get over my first porking in the Quidditch showers - er, I mean, first true love!'"

George snapped out a hand and clipped him around the top of the head, "He was _not_ my first! And I wasn't in love with him, okay? You know that… you know what happened…"

"Yeah, and I know you've been a bit of a dick about it ever since, mate."

"Fred - "

Fred rolled his eyes and shook his head, patting him on the shoulder, "I know, I know, you've made your decision and you've told him and all that, but I doubt he'd mind if you changed your mind."

"I won't."

"You're an idiot, Georgie, you know that?"

"I was an idiot to have I started any of this."

"Aww, come on," Fred teased, "You've been making a lonely little snot rag happy. Think of it as community service."

"I'm really going to smack you, one of these days, Fred, I bloody am."

It was a sign of how highly strung he was, that George was waving a menacing finger under his twin's nose. Fred grabbed the hand and forced it out of the way, shaking his head.

"If he likes you as much as you like him and you're going to stay friends anyway, it'll be exactly the same when we get out of here as it would have been if you'd just cut your losses and took the opportunity for a reliable shag - "

"That's just the Friends with Benefits thing, isn't it? Fuck Buddies. I'm not doing that to him."

"It's not 'Fuck Buddies' if you aren't seeing other people and you don't want to be. And it's _really_ not if you feel the way about him that you blatantly do, knob head. You obviously _care_ about the little ferret - "

"I cared about Ollie, too."

Fred gave another sigh and moved a bit nearer, rubbing his brother's shoulder, "Yeah, I know; you still do. You two might've pretended to each other that it was all a great lark, and all that, but I'm not that gullible. If he'd've asked you to go official you wouldn't have thought twice about it. And the thing is, Georgie, now you've got this bloody stupid idea in your head that that's all there is. And it's not. You can get together with someone you're mates with and it still be proper."

"Like you and Gina, I suppose?" George asked bitterly. "Is that what she is, a reliable shag?"

Fred felt himself blush slightly and gave a wry, superior smile, "A gentleman doesn't kiss and tell."

"That's alright, you're no bloody gentleman."

"Put your claws away, Bagpuss, I'm trying to lecture you."

"I don't want to be lectured! Least of all by you."

"Tough. Because I'm going to be the one who has to pick up the pieces when he takes you up on the idea of him going off with the plummy-mouthed little bugger from Ravenclaw. You're a real bloody pain in the arse when you're miserable, I'll have you know."

"Then don't bother," George snapped starting to pull away.

"Don't be a sap. You know I'm going to be there no matter what - you're my likkle baby bruv, aren't you, Georgie?" he pinched his twin's cheek for good measure, and received a sharp and actually quite painful slap across the wrist. "Ow! You vicious bugger! That's what I get for giving you advice, is it?"

"No, that's what you get for being clever."

"Fine, but I'm telling you, _'Pumpkin'_, that you're going to be just as miserable about this when you leave here as you would if you made the most of it and got your end away." George glared and opened his mouth to protest, so Fred thought it advisable to add, "Or have some big, committed monomogamous relationship."

"Monogamous."

"Yeah, I alright… that might've been a syllable too many, you win, well done, _Hermione_. But the fact still is, that you're ruining a perfectly good friendship - because it's never going back to normal after this, I can tell you that for nothing - making your beloved little Snowflake all miserable so he cries some colour into those pasty, white chops of his and what for? The Right Thing that, let's face it, really _isn't_, is it?"

"People move on, though, don't they? Once he starts seeing Wil - "

"If he's that interested in Rider-Digby why'd he leg it at the first opportunity, last night, eh? Answer me that!"

George sighed and rubbed his face; "Dunno," he mumbled.

"God, I should slap some sense into you, sometimes, George, I really bleeding should."

"You could try, but I'd slap you straight back."

"So what are you going to do about it?"

George shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose, "I dunno. Just leave it, I suppose… I've got stuff to think about, now…"

"You think too much, that's your problem."

"You know what?" he said, looking him in the eye with a slightly mournful dullness, "I kissed him goodbye last night."

Fred frowned a little and shrugged, "Yeah, I thought that's what this whole thing was about…"

"No, after that - after it was, er… _decided_ that I should go - I stood in the doorway and I thought that that was that, y'know? It was all buggered, now, anyway and he'd never want to speak to me again, so I kissed him goodbye. Just quickly… not like, y'know…"

"Yeah, yeah, I get it."

"And then I came back up here and went to the dorm and I just thought about it until it was light - "

"George, have you slept _at all_?"

"What? Oh… yeah, yeah, I'm fine… But I was saying that I just stayed up there thinking about how much of a prat I'd made myself look and ended up telling myself it was all for the best anyway. I still think it's probably true, but I was totally _gutted_ that he'd pushed me away and I don't want to go through that any more. It's fucking horrible."

"Oh really?" Fred asked, raising his eyebrows, "You should spare a thought or two for your Snowflake, then, because that's exactly what you've just done to him."

For a moment, George stared at him, the expression on his face unreadable even to his twin. And then, without another word, he turned and walked inside.


	19. Chapter XVI I'm Not Okay I Promise

**Chapter XVI**

**I'm Not Okay (I Promise)**

_"If you work it out, tell me what you find…" Futureheads_

By eleven o'clock that night, George had had enough of sitting in the Gryffindor common room like a spare dick at an orgy while both his immediate older and younger siblings snuggled up to their respective girlfriends. It irritated him. If he was honest, he was feeling bitter about the situation he found himself in and seeing everyone else enjoying themselves like that seemed like an injustice. Why should he be the one person endlessly stuck in relationship purgatory? And how the bloody hell did Fred justify his weird relationship with Gina when he'd be leaving her here in a few months anyway? How could he not care about that?

George pulled himself to his feet with an impatient huff when the Irish girl gave a light giggle, and made his way to the portrait hole. He knew Fred was watching him leave, but he didn't say anything. He probably thought that George was off to go and see Draco to take it all back. Well he was wrong.

He just had to do something; he'd go bloody mad if he stayed in the Tower all night! So he took to the corridors and hallways of the castle, strolling through the shadows, turning everything over in his head. He was still sure that he had made the right decision to stop the madness with Draco before it started, but that didn't make him regret it any less. It didn't mean he didn't wish things were different - that the Slytherin was a couple of years older, perhaps, and equally close to being released from the captivity of secondary education. There was no way he was about to wish himself two years younger and subject to an extra two years of childhood - no sodding way! He cursed his so-called 'noble Gryffindor streak' and mourned the fact that he wasn't the light-hearted prankster it was widely assumed he was, to his core. He just couldn't see the funny side of this situation.

He ducked around a corner on the first floor, to avoid Peeves. The poltergeist was busy dancing three feet above the stonework of the corridor making up rude songs about Filch and tossing eggs over his shoulder on the high-kicks. The last thing George needed was to have to deal with him.

The turn brought him back to the bottom of the moving staircases, along the short corridor from the great marble case down to the entrance hall. He leaned back against the wall, slipping into an alcove as he heard voices at the bottom of the stairs. There was a low murmur before the sound of the small door cut into the larger, cathedral-style main door clicked closed and footsteps approached the main stairway. George sank further into the shadows, holding his breath as the person approached, and nearly jumped out of his skin as a loud thud and skidding sound echoed down the corridor.

"Oh, _crap_!" a voice muttered, and sighed loudly.

George exhaled and relaxed, slipping out of hiding and giving the Welsh boy kneeling on the floor, scooping up the contents of his broken bag, an almighty fright. He glanced up and flung himself backwards in alarm, with a short "Wuh!" before gasping and mumbling, "Oh - God, it's you… Sorry… Professor Lupin just walked me back… I were on my way back t' the common room…"

"It's alright, mate, I'm not a prefect," George assured him, crouching down and handing him a sock that had skidded across the floor on impact.

"Thanks…"

"Not staying at the cottage, then?"

"No," Gavin replied, standing up and holding his bag up in front of his chest, "it were, um… decided I bes' not…"

"Ah, right. Nookie police, eh?"

It should have been hard to tell, in the dim light from the windows high above and the light of distant torches flaming on the stone walls, but George could see the younger boy blushing like a beacon. "Well, not in so many words…" He adjusted the bag and made to move towards the corner, looking to George to see if he was going to follow, asking, "So why're you wand'rin' the halls at quarter past ten, anyway?"

"Needed space from all the schmoochy-suckiness going on in the common room," George replied derisively, falling into step beside him.

"Oh - sorry…"

"Don't worry about it."

"So…how're things, then?" the Welsh boy asked tentatively.

"Things?"

"Well… Draco wouldn' come down for dinner or anything' an'…" he trailed off, shrugging. "S' none of my business."

"_What_?" George started in alarm, "Is he alright?"

"I dunno… only people 'e spoke to since breakfast, far as I know, are you an' Professor Lupin… Things aren' good, are they?" he said quietly. "I'm sorry, y'know? I think you'd 'ave been really good t'gether."

George looked at him side-long.

"I thought it migh' make things easier on 'Arry, as well…"

"Really."

"Yeah… y'know… 'E's jus' concerned wi' lookin' after ev'rybody…"

"Hm."

"Look… I'm sorry 'bout the way 'e's been behavin' - y'know… 'e worries, tha's all. An' it's a stressful time an' ev'rythin' - it's not as if 'e really means th' things 'e says…"

"Well, it doesn't matter. There's nothing going on."

Gavin looked over at him through the hair hanging in his eyes, "No?"

"No. Nothing."

"But I thought - "

George shook his head, watching the shadows of his feet as he strode along the corridor.

"Oh… I - I'm sorry. 'Ave you thought abou' speakin' to 'im? Y'know… from th' sounds of it 'e does like you an' maybe if 'e jus' 'ad some time t' think - "

"No, look - it wasn't because of him. He didn't… It just wasn't Snowflake's fault."

"But - "

George stopped in his tracks and said, "Look, if you really want to know, it's because I didn't see the point when I've only got six months left. He's got two and a half _years_. It wouldn't be fair. On either of us."

Gavin had stopped and turned to look at him with a slightly disturbed confusion. He turned back and carried on walking, now dangling his bag by his side, and pushing his hair out of his face. "You don' think it's worth tryin'?" he asked, glancing back at him over his shoulder.

"I don't think it'd be _fair_ to try."

"But… I'm no' bein' funny, but… from what I know - an' it's not ev'rythin', I'm sure - Draco _really_ seems t' like you… An' if you don' mind my sayin', you seem pretty keen y'self…."

"I… yeah."

"Are you _really _gonna be 'appy like that?"

"I'll get used to it," George said, much more firmly than he really felt at that moment. "What about you? Reckon you and Wonder Boy'll make the distance?"

Gavin glanced at him awkwardly and mumbled, "Mm, 'ope so."

"You don't sound like you reckon you will, mate."

"I don' wanna jinx it, s'all."

George raised an eyebrow at him, "Superstitious, are you?"

"We _are_ a superstition, George."

"Rubbish."

"We are. I live 'round Muggles, 'member? Trus' me."

"Right."

"C'n I ask you somethin'?"

"What?"

"Y' c'n tell me t' shut up - "

"Well, tell me what it is, first…"

Gavin stopped and looked at him uncomfortably, "D'you think… well, d'you think if 'Arry changed 'is mind, tha' Draco would still… y'know..?"

For a moment, George just stood there, rather struck by the question, as it wasn't something he'd wanted to consider of late. It was doing all sorts of unpleasant things to his stomach as it was. "Um… well… I think he'd take some convincing…"

"So… you do?"

"No, I didn't say that, I said he'd take some convincing. I think…" he hesitated for a moment, not sure whether the words Draco had blurted out earlier had been in confidence, and whether he could justify breaking that confidence to assuage the younger boy's fears. The look of concern on the Ravenclaw's face as he shrugged and turned to keep walking forced him into a decision. "I think that Draco's getting over him. I think he's had enough and that he's out-growing Harry. I _don't_ think you've got much to worry about."

Gavin chewed on his lip thoughtfully, turning back to him. "Really?"

"Yeah. And he's sort of seeing Wil Rider-Digby, anyway…"

"_What?_"

"I think Harry's the last of his concerns at the moment."

"Since when!"

"They met at the party last night, okay?" He surprised himself with the aggravation in his voice.

"Woah… Tha's fas' work then…"

"Hm."

"I'm sorry, man," Gavin said apologetically, reaching out to lay a supportive hand on his shoulder.

"Well it's not like it changes anything… I told him to go."

The entire concept of he and Draco not just getting together immediately seemed completely beyond the Ravenclaw's understanding; George thought that just maybe they were in the wrong houses.

"C'n I ask you somethin' else?"

"Go for it."

"Weren' you seein' Oliver Wood in 'is las' year?"

George's heart skipped a beat and he swallowed with difficulty. "Where d'you hear that?"

"Simon's 'is cousin, 'member? I mean, we never knew much, bu' people would come up an' ask 'im if it were true an' stuff…"

"Right."

"Were you?"

George hesitated for a minute before sighing and nodding reluctantly.

"I s'pose tha's a big thing, then? 'Cause… I don' know what 'appened or nothin' bu' I c'n imagine tha' if tha's why you broke up…"

"It was. But we didn't break up. There wasn't - look. It's a long story…"

"Well, I'm in no rush t' get back…"

The Ravenclaw had stopped walking and seemed to almost hope he'd hang around for a while, too. George considered it for a minute, before wandering over and climbing up onto a nearby windowsill, back-lit by the moon - now just a day from the full. Gavin gave a slight smile and followed, climbing up so that he could draw his legs up and rest his chin on his bag.

"So… what 'appened?" he asked.

George shook his head. This was ridiculous. "It wasn't a relationship like you and Harry and it wasn't just mates… It was just supposed to be convenient. But it all got a bit complicated so it was called off. It's not an exciting story."

"It seems like it got t' you a lot for somethin' not very excitin'…"

"I knew what I was doing."

"That why you won't do it?"

"What?"

"Start seein' Draco? I mean… well, diff'ren'ly."

"It wouldn't work."

"But how c'n you _know_ that?"

"I've got form," George muttered.

"If 'e means that much t' you - !"

"What, compared to Ollie?" George asked, surprised at how bitterly the words came out.

"Well… I don' know how close you and Oliver were…"

"Hm. Neither did we."

They sat in silence for a few moments before Gavin offered, "It doesn' 'ave t' be the same, though."

"Yeah, and if nothing happens it won't be."

The other boy gave a sceptical sigh, "It's no' my place t' tell you this, bu' y're an idiot, Weasley."

"Oi!"

"Don' try t' resist what's meant t' 'appen. It doesn' pay."

"Oh yeah?"

"Y' hearin' it from someone who tried really 'ard t' be 'normal'…"

"Straight, you mean?"

"Mmm. There's no poin' tryin' t' pretend if that's the way things are, y'know? Jus' the way the cookie crumbles."

"Yeah, right, but I'm not talking about a generalisation, here. It affects someone else as well."

"Yeah, an' I 'ad a girlfrien' at the time."

"It's still not the same."

"Look, you' got _no idea_ 'ow un'appy I were - "

"I've heard rumours…"

Gavin pursed his lips and lowered his eyes, "That were diff'rent," he said, reluctantly, "But I didn' need to be goin' through tha' at the same time as ev'rythin' at 'ome. You know Jack, don' you?"

"Mostly from detention, but more or less, yeah."

"Well… le's jus' say that Jack weren' doin' anybody any favours. My mam…Poor mam." He stopped and sighed wearily, "Las' thing she needed were fer 'er 'baby' to go an' ruin things more than they were… so I tried for _her_. Tried to do th' righ' thing an' be normal - an' _good_ - not let 'er down…"

"So the girl was a beard."

"A what?"

George smirked, "An attempt to make yourself butch, mate."

The younger boy looked embarrassed and shrugged. "Jus' an 'attempt' t' be normal, I s'pose… where I come from s'not exac'ly normal to be… y'know…An', see, it don' matter if you do the righ' thing, 'cause someone gets 'urt anyway. You're 'urtin' Draco 'cause you reckon it's for the best, an' I 'urt Em 'cause I were pretendin' I could jus' forget about it, y'know? You've _got _to take risks… if I'd stayed with Em I wouldn've got t'gether with 'Arry…"

"You sure that's a positive development?"

Gavin looked at him slightly stunned for a moment before dropping his eyes.

"I didn't mean that. Sorry… Harry's just really not doing himself any favours at the moment."

"It's because of the war an' stuff… 'E wants t' protect ev'ryone…"

"Doesn't give him a licence to be a total arse to everyone else."

"I know."

George looked over at him for a minute, suddenly overwhelmed with curiosity. "So who was it, then?"

"Hm?"

"Who was it? Someone must've tickled your fancy."

The look of dawning realisation on the other boy's face was immediately hidden behind a swathe of fringe as he ducked his chin down and self-consciously chewed on the carrying handle of his bag.

Apparently, it was a rather interesting someone. George thought for a moment, before smirking and saying, "Simon."

The younger boy looked up at him as if he has lost his mind; "_No_."

"_Oliver_?" Everyone fancied Oliver.

"No offence, but… no."

"Here - it wasn't Lupin, was it? He was he when you were fourteen!"

Gavin looked like he really would rather not be having this conversation and shook his head. "It weren't fourth year."

"But - _oh_, get you. Young starter, were we?"

The Ravenclaw buried his face in his bag. George smirked at him and shook his head.

"I were thirteen," Gavin conceded, finally, his voice muffled by the ragged canvas.

"And?"

"Why do you really wanna know, George?"

"Curious. Stop trying to change the subject."

"I don' _want_ t' talk about it…"

"Oh, stop being so soft!"

"_Look_," Gavin sighed helplessly, "if I told you, you prob'ly wouldn' believe me, an' if you did believe me, you'd take the piss fer the rest o' my _life_ - "

"You're not winning this debate like that, idiot."

"But 'e doesn' _know_!"

"Hey - was it _Snape_?"

"Fuck off!"

George laughed at the indignation in the other boy's voice. "Come on, mate. You can have my word and everything; who was it?"

He watched the younger student screw his eyes closed and bury his face back into the top of his bag. There came, shortly after, an indistinct mumble.

"Eh? I can't hear you…" he teased.

Gavin gave a much more audible groan and raised his head, going to the opposite extreme and leaning it back against the window frame at an awkward angle. He kept his eyes closed, as if he was still clinging to the hope that he'd wake up any moment… and mumbled the name again, slightly louder.

George stared at him. Blinked a few times and stared again. "You're _joking_."

Slowly, the younger boy shook his head against the wall and sighed an imploring, "Don' say nothin', _please_."

"That's bloody insane!"

"See, _this_ is why no one knows!"

"Don't be daft - I'd say it's pretty impressive, if anything."

"But if 'Arry _knew -_!"

"He'd be absolutely _chuffed_, Gavin."

The Ravenclaw groaned and covered his face again.

"_Why_ did it take you _three years_ to ask him, you great, wet prat?"

"'Cause…" Gavin sighed and raised his head, rubbing his eye with the heel of his hand, "that's 'ow long it took for me t' get made captain. It were like… I mean, _come on_, George - Harry Potter! He got more Valentine cards than my 'ouse put together. I were _nothin'_. At all. I 'ad no reason t' even think 'ed notice me when there were 'alf a school ach'lly _worth somethin' _t' choose from. An' anyway… we were practic'ly little kids. Most twelve year old boys aren' interested in much else than Quidditch an' gobstones."

"Look, Gav, Harry may have a hero complex, but aside from being a fruitcake, he's as average as they come. It isn't as if you need some sort of _status_ to get to know him, y'know."

"Well, no…" He turned to gaze out of the window, distantly. "There were one time, after someone 'ad put all the stuff on the walls in blood when th' chamber got opened, an' we were walkin' out of th' Great 'All an' we got a bit stuck at the door; both wantin' t' leave at th' same time… He sort of flinched when 'e realised I were there. An' there were jus' these gigantic green eyes looking' at me like a rabbit in 'eadlights or somethin'… I dunno if I _fancied_ 'im, like, bu' I jus'…"

"Couldn't stop thinking about him?" George finished, resignedly.

Gavin glanced over at him curiously, and mumbled, "Somethin' like tha'."

"You realise you've actually fancied him longer than Draco has?"

"Y'know, I _really wish_ I could say tha' don' matter so I could at least feel like I'm bein' gracious 'bout it … but I always feel just a bit…maybe it's bitterness, I s'pose, 'cause I feel like 'Look, I were 'ere first - now leave off!'… Stupid, really."

George gave a small laugh and shook his head, "Nah, I get it, it's alright."

There was a long pause as Gavin gave him a relieved grin. "You _won't_ say nothin' will you?" he asked tentatively. "If 'Arry ever fin's out I 'd rather 'e 'eard it from me, see?"

"What're you so afraid of?" George asked a little incredulously, "You two seem like you're sorted for life or something."

The Welsh boy barely suppressed a bashful smile and shrugged, "It jus' seems weird, tha's all. What would you think if Draco told you 'e 'ad fancied you since you still thought girls smell?"

"Firstly," George said counting on his fingers, "Draco. Isn't. My. Boyfriend."

"Only 'cause you sabotaged it…"

George ignored him. "Secondly, girls _do _smell. It's all that rotten perfume and stuff - can't stand it. Thirdly - if he did I'd be a smug bastard. And no, I'm not 'always a smug bastard', that's Fred. I got the decent, modest, conscientious gene."

"But jus' _think_, like. Don' you think I'm a bit… _weird_?"

"I think you're a bit Hufflepuff."

Gavin gave a small grin and jabbed him with his foot. "Arse."

"I speak as I find."

The younger boy scratched at a seam on his bag with his thumbnail, "I know people'd think it's weird - or worse, tha' I only like 'im 'cause of who he is… which is _stupid_! It bothers me, a bit, that some people do. They don't think 'bout th' fact 'e's got problems of 'is own, it's jus' ''Arry Potter-this, Boy Who Lived-that'. 'Arry doesn' _like it_. Tha's why 'e's so moody, lately - 'e keeps gettin' these terrible 'eadaches an' 'e _knows_ it's comin', but people are still always watchin'. 'E said, yesterd'y, tha's 'like bein' in a goldfish bowl'. If 'e makes any kind of mistake people will see… T'tell you th' truth I think 'e's relieved at th' prospect of not 'avin' t' do it all alone. Maybe, one we find th' other Elementals, or whatever they are, 'e'll stop bein' so… up an' down…" He looked over at George and added, with a supportive half-smile, "Maybe 'e'll leave you 'lone then."

"I don't understand how you put up with it."

"I jus' try t' remember tha' even so-called 'eroes need someone."

"You're a bigger man than I am, mate."

Gavin gave a small, sardonic smile, "Yeah, well, love's blind and stupid, innet?"

"So they say."

"After this long, I'm no' gonna throw it away…" He paused and regarded George with a slightly sly smile, "They also say it's better to 'ave loved an' lost, don' they?"

"Wuss."

"Oh, c'mon! I jus' think tha' if you find somethin' tha' means a lot t'you, you shouldn' give it up until y' know you've lost it completely. Give it a _chance_, at least.. Won' th' 'what ifs' drive you mad, if you don'?"

"I just don't want to go through that again. I'm not subjecting Draco to some grubby little 'Friends with Benefits' set up for my own gratification."

"I sort of think 'e'd get some gratification, too… An' look… Jus' because you fell for someone before, doesn' mean you can' ever feel that way again…"

"What?"

"Even if you loved 'im, y' gonna 'ave t' move on eventually."

"I wasn't in love with him!"

Gavin frowned at him a bit and quietly asked, "You didn' or you don't?"

"Neither!"

"Then God knows what'll 'appen when you break up wi' someone you _do _love."

George scowled and leaned back against the window, tilting his head back to study the ceiling. They sat in silence that way for a long time; he could see Gavin gazing out of the window from the corner of his eye. He was thinking about those last two months of Ollie's time at Hogwarts, just after he'd dumped him. Only, it hadn't really been dumping him because the whole point was that Ollie hadn't wanted to get to a stage where that was necessary. He'd called things off, though, and it felt like someone had burned out his insides. They were supposed to have stayed friends - that was always the point - but in those last two months George found it difficult to even stay in the same room. They only really spoke a handful of times in those last two months, and he'd never missed anything, or anyone, quite as much. To the world, of course, they were still the school pranksters, he and Fred; it was quite a skill, keeping up appearances.

He couldn't keep it up forever, though. Fred knew how low he was; Fred always knew. He'd been depressed for a long time afterward, partly convinced the older boy had been playing with him all along, partly frustrated that they had to give up on what he thought was a perfectly comfortable arrangement because of his own age and Oliver's career. He'd actually sworn off any sort of relationship ever again, at first, but as time went on he dismissed his reaction to Ollie's departure as juvenile. It hadn't been anything more than a daft crush, he told himself. He saw a couple of girls, briefly, then lost interest.

Draco was, in fact, the first person he'd had any sort of significant feelings for since he was sixteen. It wasn't that he had expected their friendship to be even half as close as it had become - he'd barely conceived of a tentative truce - but there was something about Draco that just made him easy to like - fun to spend time with. _Never a dull moment_. And George found himself reluctant to spend any time away from him. Fred saw the rest before he did. He'd begun to tease him about his new boyfriend before Harry had even picked up on anything worth being jealous over. And slowly George had realised that he felt more of a natural bond with the temperamental little shrimp than he ever had with Ollie Wood. Ollie was his captain and a mate. George genuinely liked and respected him. But Draco was a proper friend - he really felt like they understood each other. He was different; George was really starting to care about him.

And Draco had lost everyone who mattered to him; how could he justify wrapping him up in the same situation and then leaving him behind?

"It's too late, now."

Gavin looked up at him, surprised by the sudden breaking of the silence, "For what?"

"Me."

"That's daft - 'course it's not."

"It is. We've just got to move on and forget about it."

"'Aven' you thought 'bout tryin' t' make it work after you leave 'ere? It's not impossible - people all over 'ave long distance relationships an' things like tha'…"

"He wouldn't trust me for five minutes."

"Really? Maybe y're righ' then. 'Cause if you can' trust each other, wha's th' point?"

Even though he would have said the same thing himself, hearing the other boy's sudden change of opinion brought him down with a punch to the stomach. Ever since, people had been encouraging, but to hear someone suddenly agree with him… The thought that this really could be it, hurt.

"Wha' d'you really want from 'im, George?" the other boy asked thoughtfully. "'Cause until you c'n work tha' out there's no point anyway."

_I just want _him. "Really? Not to feel giving up on it is the only viable option."

"But it _isn't_!"

"Look, he'll start seeing Wil Rider-Digby and then he'll get over any stupid ideas about us and he'll be fine. I'm a big boy. I'll deal with the rest."

"Y're a stubborn Gryffindor, is what you are, shootin' y'self in th' foot tryin' t' be too noble - "

George began to protest scornfully, the but younger boy ploughed on regardless, seemingly set on his little rant.

"So you're just goin' t give up an' ruin things fer botha you. I jus' don' understan' why you're throwin' away say… _twenty_ years for two tha' migh' be a bit strained 'cause you'll only 'ave - let's see - a whole three months in summer, an' Chris'mas, an' Easter, an' ev'ry 'Ogsmeade weekend, if you wan'ed it… It's _mad_, is what it is. Wasteful."

George sat still for a moment, unusually still for him, and considered what the Welsh boy had said. "But what if - ?"

The boy beside him gave an impatient tut and climbed off the windowsill. "For a Gryffindor, y'know, you c'n be pretty rubbish at being impulsive. _Give it a chance_, George. The worst tha' c'n 'appen is tha' you have to deal wi' this later, instead o' goin' through it now." The Ravenclaw stood and stared at him for a minute before starting to back away a little, saying, "'M goin' t' bed. You get back t' th' Tower or somethin'… and jus' try thinkin', maybe, of how you c'n make it alrigh' instead of makin' yourselves miserable. Night."

When George absently muttered, 'G'night' back Gavin was already tilting a particular book to a certain angle on the mahogany bookcase near the library.

The next morning he woke to bright light spilling across his face and the sight of his brother gazing down at him dubiously.

"You come to your senses, yet?" Fred asked boredly.

"Mnngh… _fuck off_!" was the George's only vaguely coherent response, and he twisted roughly in his blankets and buried his face in his pillow. For a fraction of a nanosecond he had been blissfully unaware of the previous day's disaster, and then it had smashed him in the chest like a wayward bludger.

"I'm not 'fucking off' anywhere until you get your arse out of bed, get some clothes on and get out on the pitch. You're not staying in here all day."

"Go away, Fred!"

Fred gave an exasperated sigh and in time-honoured fashion, dumped a jug full of chilled water on his brother's head. He also had the good sense to duck so that the inevitable retaliation hex shot over his head in a blaze of yellow. Bastard. He could have had the decency to at least let it hit him.

George sighed and sat up muttering obscenities. "Why are you in such a fucking good mood?"

"Because I haven't just chopped off my own bollocks like some of us have," he replied, throwing a jumper at him. "Get that on. We're having a game outside - you're playing with me and Gina."

"What?" George scrunched his eyes up against the still-painful light from the window and demanded, "What _time_ is it?"

"Half nine. Game starts in half an hour."

"Who even said I'd play?" he scowled angrily. "Maybe I've got something better to do!"

"You haven't," Fred told him bluntly, "All your plans went the same way as your family jewels, mate. Now get your pasty, freckled arse out of bed or I'm going to use the 'Glory."

That got the other boy out of bed quicker than flipping the mattress. In less than a second he was shivering halfway across the room wearing nothing but a pair of boxers.

The 'Morning Glory' was one of their newest inventions. It was a variant of itching powder and Snuggle Dust and resulted in either an overwhelming sensation of being tickled, the inability to sit still or the unfortunate (or depending on your view point - desirable) effect of leaving you feeling rather… flustered. It had been specifically designed for removing over-sleepers from their beds.

George snatched up a t-shirt from where it half hung out of his trunk and pulled it over his head. "I don't want to play," he complained.

"I'm not giving you a choice, old chum."

"Listen -"

"Nope."

"_Listen_, Fred - "

"Is there a point? What now? 'Oh, poor me, I've met this bloke I really fancy and he's falling over himself to get in my pants, but I'm going to torture myself over it and get on everyone's tits by moping around and being a stroppy git just because I'm too much of a pussy to risk anything… wuuuhhhhr… Poor me.'?"

"Get. Stuffed."

Fred shook his head and grasped his brother's shoulders firmly, "Georgie. Come on, mate, you're being a total prat."

"If you shut up long enough to listen you might not be so bloody hacked off about it!"

Fred raised his hands and backed off a little, saying, "Fair enough - go on. What?"

Suddenly flustered, George scrambled around to find a passable pair of jeans from the clothes scattered around his bed; the House Elves seemed to have decided he liked his possessions that way and left them alone outside of term time, when there was no one in particular to annoy. He studied a broken belt-loop for a minute and just as Fred was about to speak again, he said, "I fucked up."

"You did," the older boy nodded; there was no point trying to argue to make him feel better - it wasn't going to do him any favours.

"I don't know what I'm s'posed to do, though."

"Obliviate?"

George cast his twin an unamused look.

"Look," Fred sighed, "Just tell ferret boy you were still wasted from New Year -"

"He's not that stupid."

"At a more appropriate time, you and me are going to debate that, but in the meantime just go and tell him."

"I can't -"

"Where did you _go_ last night, Georgie?"

"What?"

"I'm just wondering who did a better job of talking some sense into you than I could."

George shrugged guiltily and shook his head. "I've just sort of realised that maybe… well, I was an idiot. A complete and utter fucking pillock, actually. And a selfish little bastard, probably."

"Good. Right, so come outside and clear your thick head with some fresh air and then go and tell him."

"No - _Fred_ - he's going down to the Fayre with Rider-Digby, ain't he?"

Fred gave a weary huff and nodded. "Forgot about that."

"What if… I mean, there ain't much I've got that he hasn't, but there are a few things _he's_ got that I'll never have…Big piles of round, gold things, mostly." George said, rapidly starting to look hopeless again. "I've really screwed this up. Really, _really_ screwed it up, haven't I?"

Fred stepped nearer and pulled his twin into a rare, sympathetic hug. "If he was ever that interested, a little bookworm like that Ravenclaw kid isn't going to get in his way, mate. Trust me."

By ten o'clock, George was walking across the lawns to the Quidditch pitch with Fred and Gina. In the distance he could make out what looked like Ron, Harry and Gavin working through manoeuvres on their brooms. He wasn't really in the mood for seeing Harry and he would actually have preferred to avoid Gavin, too. He was sure that it was going to be awful and awkward. He felt almost like he knew too much about the Ravenclaw, and vice versa. Some things were best kept secret.

Without warning, he swung his leg over his broom and kicked off. He thought he'd do a few wide loops of the grounds before he joined them and maybe that would make him feel more at ease. He wasn't even sure what he thought he was doing, but he immediately found himself barrelling towards the cottage. He wasn't prepared to see the front door open and a slight, blond figure step out into the snow. He swerved dramatically, rounding to the left to get behind the Slytherin's field of vision; he didn't want him to think he was coming to visit. He didn't have anything to say.

He watched as the figure below waded towards the school gates. He was actually _going_. George felt his stomach twist and wrench; it hadn't quite managed to completely permeate his understanding that Snowflake was actually going on a date with someone else. It had all been hypothetical - some convenient idea to make things simpler. It had never really seemed like it would _happen_.

Before he knew what he was doing, George was flying high above the tree tops on the thin swathe of forest that created the border between the school grounds and the road to Hogsmeade. He wasn't sure what he intended to do - if he would cut him off en route and persuade him not to go, or if he would just watch. And thus, torture himself more. But if he at least saw them meet - if he was there to see their initial reactions to each other - maybe he would be able to tell if Draco really thought… really _wanted_ something to come of it.

Over on the pitch, Fred and Gina were greeted by the other three boys, all now hovering and gazing out over the lawns in bemusement.

"Was that George?" Ron asked, scrunching up his nose and trying to tuck more of his fringe under his knitted hat. "I didn't think his broom could go anywhere _near_ that fast…"

Fred plastered his face with a smirk and shrugged, "Where there's a Wil, there's a way." None of this bunch had the wit to know what he was talking about anyway.

"Maybe 'e jus' really needs a slash," Gavin grinned, before patting Harry on the shoulder and saying, "Simon'll be out in a bit, anyway. Wanna start warmin' up? We can play Ends, or somethin'?"

The others nodded and agreed and set off towards the South goal, Harry and Ron racing each other. Harry, unsurprisingly, won hands down. Sitting in the stands, bundled up in a blanket and wearing pale blue ear-muffs, was Hermione. She looked up and waved, probably assuming Fred was looking at her as he stared out over the edge of the stands, in the direction his brother had headed. Straight towards the cottage; hopefully he was going to do something useful, instead of something that would make him - and just about everyone who had to deal with him - thoroughly miserable.

To say Draco was nervous would have been reasonably fair. He wasn't wildly crippled by fear, and he wasn't feeling especially complacent, but he wasn't entirely sure he knew why he was doing this at all. Well, he did. He'd been asked, and it had been _something_ in his mission to Really Piss Off Pumpkin, but he wasn't sure why he was actually going to such lengths when George wasn't there, George didn't appear to have an interest anyway and George wouldn't know what happened beyond what Draco allowed him to. Good God, he was pathetic!

He almost turned back, twice. It was cold and he actually felt pretty miserable; trudging down an icy hill in the cold was not his idea of a good time. He had hardly been able to sleep, lead weights settling in his stomach until he had almost cried in frustration at being so tired and so angry at the other boy. It had been of small, malicious pleasure to him when he had heard Cross being sent home. But he didn't even have the energy to care any more. He could have the speccy-faced little prat if he wanted him so much, Draco didn't care. Harry was barely even a friend, any more.

He was to meet the Ravenclaw outside the tea shop on Little Wood Lane and by the time he arrived was actually rather relieved to see that the other boy was standing outside, waiting patiently. He didn't relish the idea of standing around alone in public. He'd grown rather used to having people to shield him.

The taller boy smiled as Draco approached, his cheeks slightly flushed and his fringe slipping into his eyes in the wind. "Hi!" he said, cheerfully, stepping nearer to meet him, "How are you?"

Draco gave as warm a smile as he could muster, and said, "Well, thank you. And yourself?"

"Oh, I'm good, thank you. Very good," Wil replied cheerfully. He hesitated for a minute, before fumbling into the pocket of his brown duffel coat and pulling out a brown paper bag, which he held out to Draco. "I almost forgot - I brought you this."

Momentarily stupefied, Draco blinked at the other boy's hand and asked, "What is it?"

Wil jerked his hand a little, urging him to take it and blushing much redder, "It's not much. Just some of my gran's Yule cake. It's very nice… I thought you might like some."

"Oh. Oh, well, thank you…" Draco said, smiling awkwardly and taking it from him. "I shall save it for later. I'm sorry, I didn't think to bring you anything, I - "

"That's okay, honestly. I just brought it because we had some left… Gran made me, really. She said I should. I think she's a little worried about you."

Draco looked up at him in mild disbelief.

"She reads the papers," Wil explained, hurriedly, "but she prefers to make up her own mind."

"Indeed?"

"Yes. Very much so." There was an uncomfortable silence for a moment, before the Ravenclaw asked brightly, "Shall we go?"

Draco responded with a firm 'yes' and a slightly over-eager nod and immediately set off towards Hogsmeade Green, leaving the other boy to run a few paces to catch up. In his haste, however, he promptly managed to skid on a patch of compacted snow and nearly cracked his head open on a nearby lamp post. The younger boy grappled to stop him from falling and promptly landed on his backside, knocking Draco's left leg out from underneath him as he did so. There was a moment of sheer mortification from both sides, before the whole ordeal revealed itself to be utterly ridiculous and they both broke into embarrassed giggles.

"I shall say nothing about going down on the first date," Draco said almost forgetting who he was with, scrambling to his feet with the lamp post for safety. It was only when he looked back, grinning, that he remembered he wasn't George and that sort of thing was woefully inappropriate.

Still sitting on the pavement, Wil looked utterly bewildered for a minute before gazing down at the snow and blushing again. "So… this is really a date, then?"

Draco could feel himself blushing, too. It was no wonder he kept falling over when he seemed to be making a habit of shoving _both_ his feet in his mouth. "I rather thought that the point the invite," he said carefully.

"Oh, it was!" Wil assured him, scrambling to his feet so hurriedly that he almost fell over face-first. "I just… I didn't want to make assumptions. It can be rather difficult to tell, sometimes, that's all."

"Well, now you know."

Wil's bright, brown eyes flickered to his for a minute and he said, "Good," in a very serious tone. "Perhaps we should try to make our way to the green before it gets too busy?"

George Weasley, who had been perched on the gable of the house next to the tea shop, resolutely decided that 'Friendly' Quidditch could sod off, and swung his leg back over his broom, heading for the Wand and Warlock; they didn't ask for ID there.

It was frankly amazing how sweaty it was possible to get flying around on a broom, even when the weather was freezing. Fred wiped his face on his sleeve and bellowed at Ron, who was now playing on his and Gina's team, to save the quaffle hurtling in his direction. He was actually really concerned about what would happen when Harry was forced to play Ravenclaw, because at the moment he didn't seem interested in doing much but showing off for his boyfriend. The two of them were apparently trying to turn goal keeping into a full-body-contact sport, which would've been fine if they weren't on the same team.

Harry Potter was obviously completely at ease with his pole-to-pole mood swings, though. He and the Ravenclaw spent half the time they weren't clinging to each other and risking life and limb by eating each other's faces forty feet in the air, making eyes at each other and Fred eventually gave up counting the amount of times he caught Harry just sitting a few metres away from Gavin, gazing at him stupidly. It annoyed Fred somewhat that he seemed perfectly happy now that he thought George had ruined his chances with Draco. It would have annoyed him more if he didn't know that the Slytherin was obviously totally besotted with George and that as soon as George took it all back Harry Potter was going to get the surprise of his life.

It did, though, really make him wonder if there really had been anything personal in it for Harry. For the daft little sod to be fawning so helplessly over someone they all knew he was already sleeping with there must be _something_. If they thought they'd get away with being so obvious after that evening, when the Hogwarts Express pulled in and dumped several hundred bigoted little bastards on the school steps, they really were as stupid as they both looked, though. They'd both be torn to shreds in minutes. The recent antipathy between George and Harry would be nothing compared to what an entire school could do.

At that moment, Harry himself flew near, calling his name. Fred slowed and turned to acknowledge him. "What?"

"Have you seen Herm'?"

Fred whirled back to look at the spot she had been sitting in. "Not since she was over there," he said, shrugging. "Maybe she got cold. I'm surprised you even noticed."

Harry nodded vaguely, and headed back over to his boyfriend without even picking up the jibe. He was lost in his own little world for a moment. He'd actually been thinking about the prophecy when he realised Hermione had disappeared. He was wondering if the way they were approaching the matter was right at all. He supposed their theories about himself and Draco made some sense, but Hermione didn't seem that watery to him. Water was wet, wasn't it? Soppy. It made more sense to him that that would be more like Gavin than _Hermione_, but he didn't think that it was him, either. One thing he was starting to wonder, though, was whether the 'flame' in 'flamed air' was actually _flame-red hair_. It had to be a Weasley, if it was. He sincerely hoped it had nothing to do with Gina, anyway. But if it was a Weasley, surely it had to be Ron? In actual fact, he didn't much like the idea of it being either of the Twins (and please, _God_, not Ginny), so he actually rather hoped it was Ron. Ron did make the most sense, after all. It had always been him, Ron and Hermione - always. And Draco had always been there, too. So… that really did make the most sense.

The thought reassured him. He didn't want to do this alone. He'd been there, done that, and every time he'd come closer to losing. Maybe with their help he'd manage to pull it off. He certainly didn't think he could do it by himself.

He didn't like the idea of Hermione wandering around on her own, though. Not when the school was so empty. He hoped she had just gone to the library for some more books. If she wasn't back in an hour, he was going to have to go and find her.

George was not in the mood to talk to strangers. Especially the obviously batty sort. So when a fat old woman with an entire beard growing out of a mole on her chin caused him to jump out of his skin as he sat with his head on his folded arms in a dingy corner of the tavern, he was not best amused. She was dressed in a holed crochet cardigan, one eye wobbling wildly to the left, and reeked of sherry. She was also standing over him, wobbling eye narrowed and a pudgy hand prodding him in the cheek.

"Time travels only in straight lines, boy," she croaked, and George now knew why caricatures of witches in Muggle cartoons sounded like they smoked sixty a day and had a helium habit. It was people like her who turned their kind into a laughing stock.

"Sod off," he mumbled, pushing her hand away and trying to ignore her.

"It's the heir of your brother you're looking for, my sweet, and that's the way the wind is blowing. Oh, but the ice is melting and all the water's running away, isn't it? Don't let your fire go to ground, lad. Don't you let it all go wrong again…"

He turned sharply to look at her, demand to know what she meant, only to find she had vanished. Rather confused, and now even more painfully aware of the fact that it was All His Fault and that he had absolutely no business intruding on Draco's happiness anymore - regardless of what some mad old cow told him - George picked up his glass and stomped over to the bar.

The first hour and a half of wandering around the Winter Fayre had been as pleasant as walking around any typical village fete, for Draco. He wasn't particularly interested in the works of local craftswizards and it was past Yule, so it wasn't as if he had any additional presents to buy, but when the two boys happened upon a stall from the local chocolatier Draco managed to find a hidden reserve of enthusiasm. He was surprised to find that Wil actually seemed more eager to get to the stall than he did, and was quietly delighted to find that he wasn't the _only_ boy in the school who viewed chocolate as something more than a source of collectible cards.

The vast, double-length stall was piled high with the finest, more scrumptious confectionery Draco had ever encountered. And better still, they were offering samples. Manners prevailing, they politely requested tastes of the most delectable-looking pieces. A rich, dark chocolate ball covered in pale green swirls that tasted like liquid peppermint (and apparently freshened one's breath); rounded little barrels with a whole cherry and some licquer inside; pale blue chocolates with pink insides that had the effect of a mild cheering charms, and were apparently called 'Comforts'. Within the first few minutes they had tried so many, the lady running the stand was starting to look impatient. Her expression soon changed, however, when Draco decided he wanted a whole pound of eight different sorts, and Wil, although rather more reserved in his choices, half a pound each of his six favourites.

Merrily, she bundled them up in hand-made boxes and sorted them into bags. It was probably her best sale of the day.

She reached across the table to hand Wil his package and take his money, but Draco was suddenly compelled to do something _nice_. So he reached out and pushed the Ravenclaw's hand down and said, rather firmly, "No, I'll pay for those."

Wil immediately turned crimson and glanced at the lady in embarrassment. "There's no need to do that," he said bashfully.

"No, I know," Draco shrugged, and smiled at him. "I owe you for the cake and it isn't as if I can't afford it." He reached over and handed the woman four galleons. "That should cover it."

"Well, my dear, it's only three and eight sickles for the lot - "

"Well, then the rest should cover our samples," he said, with a grown-up-pleasing smile before taking his bag from her hand. "Come on, Digby, I'd rather like to go to the teashop; you can buy me a cup of hot chocolate."

They returned to the teashop where they had met that morning, and settled into a corner table which had large, plush armchairs to sit in and ordered their drinks, before opening a parcel each and attempting to convince themselves they would save most for later.

"I once went to a shop in France, when we went there on holiday," Wil told him, trying to look well-mannered while sucking the remains of an orange truffle from his fingers, "and they sold the most wonderful coconut bonbons. My sister, Octavia, the one who is married now, bought bags and bags of the things. She had to put preserving charms on most of them, but it was worth it. Definitely worth it."

"Where in France did you go?" Draco asked, watching him lick the last of the chocolate from his lip and go for another, wondering if the stirring in his stomach meant he was interested in the chocolate or just the other boy. "I have family there."

"Oh, Paris, of course. It's such a wonderful city - you can see why it inspired so many poets."

"Quite," Draco smiled. He had fond memories of visits to Paris when he was very small. His father hadn't been there.

"Would you like one?" Wil asked, offering him the box. "I don't think you bought any of these?"

_Well, that's one way to work it out_, Draco thought, nodding and taking one. It was utterly mouth-watering. But he still found his gaze drawn back to the other boy very quickly. Perhaps it was both, then. That'd teach George.

Draco picked up the selection he was eating and offered them to the other boy. The Ravenclaw took one and bit in half before Draco could warn him not to, and the liquid chocolate inside spilled all down his chin, causing him to choke and blush in embarrassment.

"Whoops," he muttered rubbing his chin with the back of his hand before transferring the smears to a napkin. _George would have just licked it off_.

Draco very resolutely put any trains of thought that may arise from licking chocolate off of things to the very back of his mind, and shoved another chocolate into his mouth with an almost improper deliberateness. It seemed better that his mouth do something to occupy itself which wouldn't get him in trouble.

The next hour simply vanished and before long Wil regretfully told him he would have to head home to pack his things ready for the return to school that evening. Draco was quite surprised at how disappointed he was to have to cut short their conversation. He was actually starting to think that if George didn't come to his senses, Wil would make quite a good second choice. He wasn't even obsessed with Quidditch.

Gathering their things, they made their way out into the street, marvelling at the fact it seemed to be getting dark, even though it was just barely two o'clock. Wil volunteered to walk him back to the school, but Draco refused, instead agreeing that he could walk him as far as the edge of town, and then he should go and get packed as he lived at entirely the opposite end. It was a silent mutual agreement to use the back streets and quieter roads; and after the nth time their knuckles knocked together, Draco finally decided that enough was enough, and nudged at the other boy's hand until he wrapped his fingers around Draco's.

It was on an apparently deserted street between the backs of the shops on Pond Walk and the grubby, glass-fronted little lock-ups on Smithy Street that the Ravenclaw stopped abruptly and tugged at Draco's hand. He was half expecting the next words, partly hoping for them, partly afraid of them, because he could feel the younger boy growing more tense; but when Wil composed himself deliberately and asked, "Draco, may I kiss you?" he saw no reason to object.

It was awkward in the way that any pre-meditated form of affection is. Aside from not knowing what to do with his hands or which way to turn his head, however, it actually went rather well. It was nice. Nice. Neither unpleasant or terribly earth-moving. But he'd do it again if he was asked.

George Weasley, stumbling down the cobbled side-street from the Wand and Warlock, tanked up like a land army, picked the most unfortunate moment to stray onto Smithy Street. If he were to have written a list of Things That Could Go Wrong Today, coming face to face with the result of his own stupidity in such a literal sense would have been right up there with being shat on by a passing dragon.

He stood there for a minute, gazing at the two boys further down the road, before thumping the nearest wall so hard that he grazed his knuckles and practically launching himself into the air and back toward the castle, realising that his hand really bloody hurt.

He had given it much more than an hour, and yet Harry had still not seen any trace of Hermione. He frowned and decided it was probably time they went in if they fancied lunch, anyway. They'd miss it altogether, otherwise. He made a few feeble attempts at a manly whistle and ended up delegating to Gavin. Ron swept over to them and immediately asked, "Where's 'Mione?" looking bemused.

"That's what I was wondering," Harry said. "I think we'd all better get changed and go in for lunch anyway - if she's not there maybe we'd better check the Map. See if she's alright."

"Why wouldn't she be?" Gina asked scornfully. "Girls don't need lookin' after, y'know."

"Yeah, well _there's a war on_," Harry replied, irritably, and set off for the Gryffindor changing rooms. He was glad that, as a girl, she wasn't allowed to follow.

The other boys trooped in after him. There had been little point in Simon and Gavin going all the way over to the Ravenclaw rooms, so they all convened in Gryffindor.

"Where'd George go?" Simon asked, holding open the door, as if suddenly aware that there was only one twin in their midst.

"No idea," Ron answered, pulling off his jumper and shaking his head to make his hair lie flat again. Harry envied his ability to do that.

"And Draco?" Simon prompted, casting Gavin an optimistic smirk.

"Draco's on a date," Harry declared flatly. "With Wil Rider-Digby."

Simon looked at his best friend with his eyebrows raised. "_Our _Wil Digby?"

"Mm," Fred nodded reluctantly. "Supposedly."

"Supposedly? Is he or is he not?"

"He's supposed to be. But judging by the fact that Fat Head isn't here either, he might not be."

"Have they not sorted it out?"

Gavin looked at him and widened his eyes, tilting his head at a slight incline as if to say, 'No! Don't bring this up!'

Harry pursed his lips and gave a shrug, "Personally, if he's out with Wil, 'good on him' is all I can say."

A number of pairs of eyes flicked to Harry, to each other, and then back to Harry.

"Why?" Fred asked, obviously struggling to bite his tongue.

"Why not? As far as I know, Wil's an alright bloke."

"What, and George's not?"

"George is a Weasley Twin," Harry levelled, knowing that this could escalate into a punch up if he wasn't careful. "Firstly, I don't exactly find it easy to believe that George's crush on him is going to last more than five minutes; secondly, Wil's not one of us or part of this or likely to go and get himself killed by doing something stupid - or even get himself targeted. And at least Wil's the same age."

Fred narrowed his eyes and turned to pick up a towel, sarcastically muttering, "Funny, and there I was just thinking you were jealous."

"Sorry to break it to you, Fred, but even if I'd trust you or George with my life, I'm not stupid enough to trust you with _anyone's_ feelings. Okay?"

"'Arry - y'know, tha's no' really fair…"

"What? It's true. Those two hiss at first years for going into Slytherin and turn people into canaries for a laugh!"

"Right, 'cause you've never slipped anyone a Canary Cream, have you?"

"No."

Ron thought for a minute and chipped in, "Well, he did nick a Ton Tongue a while ago and leave it out for Goyle. I just don't think he ate it."

"That's different."

"No it's not - those idiots were just his skivvies anyway! Your poor, fragile little friend isn't the soppy weakling you like to think he is."

Harry laughed.

"I've _never_ thought Malfoy was fragile; I'd've broken his neck by now if I thought he was," Ron offered.

"You'd've broken yours then, though, wouldn' you?" Gavin replied, sitting down to undo his trainers.

"What? Oh. Well…" Ron looked flustered and quite annoyed about not having a true retort for that and shut up.

"Look, Fred, I know he's your brother and you two are all telepathic and know each other really well and so maybe you know him better than the rest of us - "

" - Obviously."

" - but I just don't think Draco needs someone like him. Not when his mum and dad've just died and there's a deranged murdered after him."

There was a lull in which everyone looked at anything but each other, before Gavin spoke up from where he was sitting, studying his scuffed old Puma.

"I think you're wrong, ach'lly," he declared. By the time everyone turned to look at him, he was casting Fred a significant look. "George's mad on 'im. An' I think 's better for Draco t'ave someone around who really _gets him_ than waste time wi' someone like Wil, who's a great bloke, but prob'ly a bit borin' for 'im. An' y'know, I like George. I reckon 'e's a good bloke an' the more people do 'im down the more likely Draco is to go after 'im anyway.

"An' s'none of our business, in th' firs' place. 'Arry don' need to go savin' 'im and Fred don' need t' go fightin' George's battles."

Ron gave a firm nod and pointed at Gavin. "What he said. The last thing we want is for Malfoy to be even _more_ soppy over him. Or the other way around."

Gavin glanced across at him with his eyebrows raised, unsure whether he was being sarcastic of if he'd just missed the point.

"Anyway," Ron said, glancing between Harry and Gavin dubiously, "I'm going to get in the shower, now, and I think you two'd better stay at opposite ends from each other. I might be sick if you get all smoochy and horrible with no clothes on and I have to watch."

"What's up, Ron? Jealous?" Harry teased, winking at him.

Ron turned a violent red from ear to ear and bellowed, "NO!"

"Yeeeah you are," Harry grinned, making a kissy face. "Just because you got there first!"

"HARRY!"

Fred stared at them both before scrunching up one side of his face and asking, "Do I actually want to know about this?"

"Probably not, but I'm going to tell you anyway, just because seeing Ron's face is going to be brilliant!"

"HARRY, DON'T YOU DARE!"

"Months ago - "

"Harry, I'll tell everyone about those _dreams_ you get," Ron threatened.

"Go on, then. I don't even remember them, so they'll be news to me, too."

"Git."

Harry poked his tongue out and opened his mouth to speak, but Ron's dignity was (for the most part) saved by Gavin dragging Harry onto his lap and gagging him with his hand. Ron disappeared into the shower, a very bright shade or red. Fred and Simon cast each other knowing looks and wandered after him, leaving Harry and Gavin alone by the lockers.

"Y' such an arse, sometimes!" Gavin told him, affectionately, before slipping his hand away to kiss him.

"Well, I'm getting in some practise of acting like I'm straight," Harry grinned, getting himself more comfortable. He dropped his voice to a whisper and added, "We'd better make up for the fact there are going to be hundreds of people around for the next few weeks, hadn't we?"

Gavin barely suppressed a laugh and murmured, "I'm sure we'll work something out…"

"I HEARD THAT, HARRY!" Ron's voice boomed from the showers. "I swear, I'll tell McGonagall if he comes anywhere near our dorm!"

Harry responded by making loud smooching sounds and attempting to shove his hand inside Gavin's jeans. Gavin gasped and grabbed his wrist, trying to stop him.

"_Don't_…! Stop, 'Arry!" he hissed, trying not to laugh.

"Don't stop? Happily!"

"You know wha' I mean! Behave. God… I'm never goin' out wi' a Gryffindor again!" Gavin teased, trying to pin Harry's hand to his own leg.

"Oh? Planning on going out with some else at some point, are you?"

The older boy grinned and kissed him tenderly. "Plannin' on spending th' next 'undred-odd years wi' me, then?" he challenged.

"If I make it past sixteen, I s'pose I could do worse…" Harry told him, kissing him back and moving around until he straddled one of Gavin's knees and wrapped his arms around his neck, before leaning in for a kiss so soft it was barely more than open-mouthed nudging. "Love you."

"Love you, too."

They were started by a sudden barrage of laughter and cat-calls from the showers.

"PISS OFF!" Harry yelled, laughing.

"EH?" Fred's voice called back. "We weren't laughing at you, Wonder Boy - Ron just dropped the soap!"

Gavin laughed and gave Harry a small kiss on the cheek; "We should prob'ly take a shower. I smell."

"I like the way you smell," Harry told him, burying his face in Gavin's neck.

"You won't in 'bout 'alf an hour when I start stinkin' like Filch."

"Oh, I dunno…"

"Gross!"

Harry raised his head and murmured in the older boy's ear, "Wait 'til they're gone."

Gavin twisted his head at an awkward angle to look at him, wide-eyed, "_Not 'ere_!"

"Why not?"

"Just 'cause!"

"Scaredy-cat."

"'Arry, Sirius'll kill me if 'e fin's out."

"Then he'd better not find out, had he?"

"No, seriously, I'm not…_doin' it_ 'ere."

"Why not? It's hardly like we'd be the first - "

Gavin grimaced. "Really, 'Arry… No."

"Not even if -" Harry began, and leaned to whisper into his ear.

For a moment, Gavin looked stunned, then indecisive and eventually just rather embarrassed. "No," he said firmly, "bu' if you offer another time I might' say yes. Maybe."

Harry giggled and leaned in to kiss him rather less softly than before, just as Ron stumped out of the showers, wrapped in a towel.

"Oh for God's sake!" he exclaimed, "I think I'd better turn into a poof or something if I ever plan on getting any around here."

"I'm sure Creepy Creevey'd lie back and think of Harry for you, mate," Fred said, slapping him on the shoulder.

"That's sick."

"Maybe it's time you told your missus to just serve up that old beef sandwich, Ronniekins," his brother taunted, winking and waiting for the back-lash.

Harry turned sharply and opened his mouth to defend her honour, but was beaten to it by Ron, who sighed wistfully and shrugged, "No point. If I did she'd tear my bits off and use them as a bookmark - where's the fun in that?"

They all laughed; mainly because it was true. She'd tear off his bits and use them as a bookmark _in some gigantic tome on suffrage_.

Harry looked across as Simon turned away from them, dragging the towel from around his waist to dry his hair. And he kept on looking until Gavin noticed and covered his eyes with his hands, tutting playfully in his ear.

Harry grinned and whispered, "Kilt?"

"Well," Gavin whispered back, "I migh' start savin' up."

"Um, didn't you want to go and find Hermione or something, Harry?" Ron interrupted, looking a bit ill and tightening his towel around his waist.

"Yeah, um…" Harry glanced back at Gavin and gave Ron a wry smile, "You guys go on… we'll catch you up."

Hermione was perfectly safe, as it happened, sipping tea from a china cup on a comfortable floral sofa. On her lap lay the book she had been reading in the stands that morning; a book that had made her leap to her feet and run to the library.

"And you're quite sure, Hermione?" Lupin asked, once again running his fingers along the torn parchment.

"Yes," she said, nodding carefully. "I think this is all too big for us alone."


End file.
